


The Demons Have the Phonebox

by theplatinthehat



Series: The Unicorn Frappucino AU [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, an au where we got unicorn frappes in the uk, creative license with the english language, just downright weird in places, liberal use of humour, this is gonna be a wild ride so hold on tight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-06-02 09:55:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplatinthehat/pseuds/theplatinthehat
Summary: Soho, London, 2019. A man with a blue box has vanished. An angel has been taken from a bookshop. And two redheads are joining forces to get them back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [The Demons Have the Phonebox - Traduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477585) by [Rikka_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikka_kun/pseuds/Rikka_kun)



> Basically I love Donna and I love Crowley and I think they will have met their match with one another. This whole debacle was inspired by Donna yelling 'You fought him off with a water pistol - I bloody love you!' and I thought - what if the water pistol was full of holy water.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this whole debacle. I've certainly been enjoying writing it! Come yell at me about your favourite on Tumblr - @theplatinthehat - or leave a comment, I don't mind :)
> 
> Happy reading!

Crowley walks through Soho.

Well, if you could call that nonchalant sashay his legs were so very good at 'walking'.

He's left the Bentley somewhere in the depths of the city, after one of his well-orchestrated traffic light-related annoyances spectacularly backfired on himself. So he's walking – sashaying – to Aziraphale's bookshop to take him to lunch.

It is Thursday after all.

So Crowley is walking, this much we have established. He is also minding his own business. He doesn't notice any of the humans around him, and they don't notice him. They really ought to, a tall, black vision that towers over them with Mars-red hair and sunglasses that wouldn't look out of place at a steampunk exhibition. But they don't.  
He quite likes it that way.

He doesn't like the shouting. Shouting is a perfectly acceptable way to communicate when, for instance, one's life is in danger, the world is literally falling apart around one's ears, or you're trying to warn one of Noah's sons that one of their only two unicorns is making a run for it. But shouting in the street? Please, it's not the Middle Ages anymore (thank Someone for small mercies).

The shouting gets louder.

"Doctor! Don't you _dare_ keep ignoring me."

Crowley smirks. He pities the poor soul that's at the other end of this person's wrath.

And then there's a firm hand on his shoulder and he finds himself pulled into an alleyway.

When had humans got so daring? He finds himself face-to-face with a very angry woman, with hair almost as red as his. She's shouting.

She's _shouting_.

"I don't know what you were thinking just running off like that? You think it's funny do ya? 'Oh yeah, Donna, you go get us the coffee whilst I make sure the TARDIS engines cool off properly – no, no, it will be thoroughly boring, and I think Starbucks is doing those unicorn frappuccinos, you'll like those. Come back with two if you don't mind'."  
Crowley looks down and sees that she's clutching two of the aforementioned drinks. He smiles. He was quite proud of the uproar those had created. He couldn't take credit for Starbucks, of course, that had been human ingenuity. But unicorn frappuccinos had been all Crowley.

She's still shouting.

"And I don't know _what_ you're calling this," she gestures in the vague direction of the demon, "The Doctor in disguise? You stand out like a sore thumb, mate, and don't think those sunglasses are helping to make you look any less 'conspicuous'," she tries to make air quotes with her fingers, but alas, the frappuccinos prevent her.  
This just serves to make her even more cross.

"No disguise in the world could cover up the fact that you're just a long stick of – of nothing!"

Crowley's had enough.

"I'm sorry, miss," he apologises (although not altogether sincerely), "but I'm afraid you've got the wrong person. Good luck finding them, whoever they are, but I'm afraid I'm very busy. Have a nice life."

In a final moment of wickedness, if it can be described as such, he plucks one of the frappuccinos from her grip and begins to walk away.

Aziraphale is not going to believe this.

He definitely won't believe the fact that this woman proceeds to grab him by the ear, yank him back into the alleyway and _slap_ him across the face.

By a very minor miracle the glasses stay on his nose. He can't imagine that snake eyes would improve the woman's mood. Crowley clutches his cheek.

"What was that for?" he protests, mouth agape.

"Oh don't you _dare_ give me those puppy dog eyes – you know what you did."

Crowley _dearly_ wishes that his jaw wasn't hanging about uselessly, but the ability to think coherently has currently deserted him for a bar in Lower Manhattan.

"Lost for words are ya? Makes a change."

"I'm really sorry but – "

" 'You don't know what I'm talking about,' " the woman laughs, ticking off each 't' with a terrifying intensity, "Hilarious! Just like this _hilarious_ note you left me where the TARDIS should be."

She thrusts a crumpled up piece of paper into his chest with force that could rival a small hurricane, before stalking off a couple of paces and angrily, noisily, takes a slurp of her drink.

Crowley straightens his clothes out and takes a look at the note. He doesn't know why because this whole affair obviously has nothing...

Oh.

And suddenly he's running, drink discarded in the gutter.

He's wrong.

He _has_ to be wrong, he prays to whoever might be listening.

"Aziraphale!" he shouts as he rounds the corner to the bookshop, "Aziraphale I think – "

The doors fall open and Crowley stumbles into the bookshop.

It's been ransacked.

Books have flown off the shelves. Papers have been torn to shreds. The computer screen has been smashed in and even the little plant Crowley gifted the bookshop has had its stem snapped in two.

"Angel," he whispers, falling to his knees.

No.

Footsteps thunder up behind him.

"What are you doing? Who is Az – oh..."

The woman falls silent as she surveys the damage. A tornado would have been more considerate.

"What – what happened?"

Crowley says nothing.

An empty bookshop.

His angel gone.

Aziraphale.

"Hey look. It's another note."

Crowley buries his head in his hands.

" 'This is repayment for the debt you owe.' Doctor, what debt?" she asks, kneeling down beside him.

He rubs his eyes under the sunglasses and pulls away from her touch.

"I am _not_ your friend," he spits.

"But – "

"There are no buts here. Look," he swipes the sunglasses off his face and stares her dead in the eyes, "does your friend have eyes like _these?_ "

Disappointingly, the woman doesn't fall away in fear. Merely regards him with mild surprise.

"No," she admits, "but he does have two hearts."

"Two?"

She nods.

"Huh."

They sit in silence for a while, processing the information.

"Sorry for shouting," the woman apologises, taking another slurp of her drink. "You do look an awful lot like him. Except the hair. And the glasses. And the general dress sense."

That coaxes a laugh from Crowley. She extends a hand to the demon.

"My name's Donna. Donna Noble."

He shakes her hand, "Anthony J. Crowley. But everyone just calls me Crowley."

"Interesting name. But less weird than the Doctor."

"Yeah. Who calls themselves that?"

Donna shrugs, "He does."

She passes the cup over and Crowley gratefully takes a sip. He doesn't normally let anything non-alcoholic past his lips, but he'll make an exception under the circumstances.  
He makes a mental note to remedy that situation later.

"So," Donna asks, getting up off the floor, "what's the plan?"

"The plan?"

"Well obviously your friend and my friend have vanished, the only thing that connects them are these weird notes and we're going to work together to get them back."

"Oh no, no, no," he says firmly, getting to his knees, "this is far too dangerous for a human."

She laughs. Actually laughs.

"Not too long ago I would have accepted that as an answer. Unfortunately for you, you've met me now. And I am not leaving my friend to be rescued by his goth doppelganger."  
Crowley looks down at his outfit and tries to protest that it really isn't goth, but she's on a roll now.

"The things I've seen with the Doctor. The stuff I've _learned_ \- you're gonna need my help, believe me."

Crowley sighs. He feels the miracle energy sink in his stomach, the way it does when he drives over a small bridge in the countryside, and focuses on the bookshop. What it looked like. What it _felt_ like. 

Donna gasps. He can hear the sound of papers taking wing, and books returning themselves to their places with satisfied thuds.

He opens his eyes and the bookshop is good as new.

Well... it would pass for what Aziraphale considered to be tidy. This was definitely a very loose definition.

And he claimed to have helped Johnson write the dictionary.

"That was... incredible."

"Now do you see? This stuff, it's much bigger than anything you can imagine. It's _dangerous_. And I don’t want a human getting under my feet, no matter how many sugary drinks she gives me."

She snatches the drink back, "Well that's alright because I wasn't going to give you anymore."

He smirks.

"But don't place your limits on me because I'm human. I've flown in space. I've travelled through time. I was there when Vesuvius destroyed Pompeii. I was there when Alpha Centauri was born."

"Alpha Centuari? How?"

"My friend, the Doctor. Well he's got this box you see and – "

There's a noise. It's very quiet, almost imperceptible. But Crowley's senses have heightened in the wake of everything that's happened in the last ten minutes or so (it feels like an eternity) and he catches it. He slinks close to Donna and puts a hand over her mouth. She starts to struggle.

"There's something in the shop."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something in the bookshop...

Donna stops struggling, eyes wide open as she surveys the shop for danger. She can't see anything. But then again, neither can Crowley.

Time to get the heaven out of there.

"You wanted a plan? OK, here's a plan. I'm going to let go of you and you're not going to scream the place down." Donna rolls her eyes. "Then we're going to go out the door, back onto the street and head straight to my car. Does that sound alright?"

She nods, still scanning the shop for the danger he's sensed.

Once Crowley's convinced she won't start screaming like an idiot he lets her go. She dusts herself off and shoots him a look that promises severe pain if he ever dares to pull a stunt like that again. They begin to back out the door.

And then Crowley's chest is on fire.

He staggers backwards and falls against the door frame, hand clutched to his ribs. He looks down and he can see blood. A lot of it.

No! 

He can't discorporate now.

Not _now_.

He's been scratched. Badly. Mortally.

A hellhound. There's a hellhound here.

"You're hurt? What – how? I didn't _see_ anything!"

Crowley sinks to the floor, hoping that folding in on himself will help in some small way. He can pretend it does for now.

"Donna," he grunts, "get out of here."

"Not on your skinny life," she says, pulling an umbrella out of the stand by the door. "I need you, and you need me. You're not dying on me today, sunshine."

"I'm serious," he gasps, "there's a hellhound in here."

"A _what_?"

A stack of books topples over, startling the pair of them. And then another on the opposite side of the room. It's partially shifted off their plane – but not for long.

"There's a hellhound," he repeats. "A very big, bad dog that loves nothing more than feasting on the souls of the innocent... and the guilty. Actually, they aren't that fussy."

"Focus!" Donna bellows, holding out the umbrella like it's a flaming sword, capable of doing actual damage to an infernal creature.

"Whatever. It's very big, and very bad, and it's currently... oh how do I explain it... out of the mortal plane."

"You mean it's in a different dimension to us?"

"Yes? How did you –"

"Get to the point, Crowley! What can we do about it?"

"Holy water."

"Holy _what_?"

"Holy water – that's the only – "

The beast rematerialises. It's huge – at least ten feet long. Black fur, matted with burns and sulphur. There are empty sockets where the eyes should be and teeth as long as his arm. And there are razor sharp claws; they glisten in the sunlight with a maroon liquid. 

"What in the world?"

His blood.

His brain suddenly loses its grip on reality. His body is about to shuffle off its mortal coil and onto the flaming pastures of the fields of the damned.

"No!" he groans, biting down on his hand to bring him back. He can't afford to pass out now.

The hellhound growls, long and low. Its breath stinks of death. It's preparing to – 

"Donna. It's about to pounce. Please, for the love of anything, get out of here while you can," Crowley begs. If one of them can get out alive, at least Aziraphale has a chance.

"I am _not_ leaving you to that thing."

The beast paws the ground, tearing its claws right through the floorboards of the bookshop.

"This isn't up for – "

With a great howl the hellhound bounds towards them, spittle flying in every direction. Crowley throws his arm up in front of his face, too drained to even conjure up a shield.

A body hits the floor.

He doesn't look for a moment. He has to brace himself for the worst.

He swallows.

He looks.

Donna is standing there, umbrella snapped well and truly in two. The hellhound lies motionless. Its breath is shallow.

It's stunned?

"How?" he asks, something like an impressed grin working its way to his mouth.

Donna turns round with a smile, "Secondary school rounders team. I was always a decent batswoman."

Crowley's eyes lose focus again, like a lens misaligned in a telescope. The remains of the umbrella clatter to the floor and Donna's hands are on his face.

"Crowley, what can I do?"

"There's nothing, Donna."

"There must be something! There's always something!"

He grabs her shoulders and makes her look at him, "You want to help? OK. Aziraphale, the owner, has a box in a safe behind the portrait of Oscar Wilde in the back room. The combination is 21 10 4004. Bring it here."

She nods and hurries off.

Now that there's a little bit of quiet, Crowley can think about fixing himself. 

Let's be real, there's a lot of himself to fix.

Pulling himself a little more upright, he allows himself a quiet groan – it's cathartic, he justifies. He places a hand on his chest and starts the miracle of healing.

Demons aren't great at healing – it's much more of a divine tactic – but a little bit can go a long way. And anything to avoid discorporation is _definitely_ a good thing.   
The warmth of the healing spreads along his chest. He gasps as the flesh closes up and new skin grows over the open wounds. It doesn't hurt but the sensation isn't pleasant either. With the last of his miracle energy he fixes his clothes – he can't walk around London looking like he's been mugged for pity's sake.

Crowley tries standing up. 

A stab of pain forces him down to the floor.

He fights back a wave of panic.

The hellhound must have done something inside this body. Hell only knows what – the infernal things evolve far too quickly for anyone to keep up. It could have done anything to him.

If only Aziraphale was here. He could get him fixed up, nice and proper, and have a good beverage waiting for him as soon as everything was done.

Speaking of beverages.

Donna hurries back over with the box.

"I've got it!"

"I can see that."

She looks down at his chest with a frown, "What happened? You were practically torn to shreds."

"Ah yeah, well, I can heal myself," he replies with a shrug and a smirk.

"So you sent me on a wild goose chase to get some peace and quiet?" 

She's very offended. She's also got the wrong end of the stick.

"On the contrary, my dear," Crowley replies, flicking open the box and retrieving one of Aziraphale's bottles of emergency Bordeaux. He pulls the cork out with his teeth and takes a large swig of the alcohol.

"Now _that_ was by far and away the best thing anyone has done for me today."

Donna raises an eyebrow. Crowley stands.

And sways.

And staggers backwards.

Donna is there to catch him, so at least he's saved from the disgrace of falling flat on his face.

"Shouldn't you take a couple of minutes to rest? I know you said you've healed yourself but you look pretty awful."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He grimaces, attempts to stand up straight and this time he just about manages it.

"Maybe you should sit down for a bit? I saw some chairs in the back room?"

Crowley shakes his head, and takes another gulp of the wine. Hopefully it will help numb the pain – once he's consumed enough anyway.

"That thing is stunned, but it won't be for long, and I expect whoever sent it will be here shortly to find out what happened. Plus this place now reeks of miracle energy. We need to get out of here."

She doesn't protest.

Crowley tries to walk normally (well, normally for him) but he really is in too much pain for it. Eventually Donna gets fed up of his limping and hails the pair of them a taxi to get to Crowley's Bentley. Thankfully the wards he and Aziraphale placed on it in the days after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't were still secure, so he knows the vehicle was safe.

Queen starts blaring from the radio at top volume. 

Donna groans.

"Do you have anything else?" she asks as he reverses the car up the road, "My granddad was always playing this when I was a kid, and to be quite honest I'm still sick of it."  
Crowley shrugs, looking at the various cassettes and CDs littered around the car, "I don't know how long any of this has been in here."

"What difference does that make?"

He makes a non-committal noise, to which Donna just sighs and crosses her arms.

Clearly she is used to not having things explained properly.

Driving with Donna is a refreshing change to Aziraphale. Not only does she _not_ whinge at his fast driving, or the recklessness of his steering – she actively encourages it, pointing out clear spots in the traffic for the Bentley to squeeze through.

_I'm travelling at the speed of liiiiiight -_

Donna turns the radio off with a huff.

"I was listening to that," Crowley complains.

"Well now you aren't," she replies with a smirk.

As Crowley swerves around yet another pedestrian Donna asks, "Where exactly are we going?"

"My flat. It's not far, but the traffic lights have been playing up all day. That might be my fault a little bit."

"Just a little?"

"OK a lot."

At last, Crowley spies the road to his flat and turns sharply to park outside. Donna follows him to the block of flats.

"I like you – you don't complain about my driving."

Donna laughs, "Well, my friend is a terrible driver – no seatbelts in the TARDIS either."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Now can we go inside, I'm freezing."

Crowley fumbles with the keys and lets the pair of them inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are gonna love chapter 3
> 
> Also, there is a meaning to the safe code - let me know if you work it out!
> 
> Come yell at me about your favourite bit on Tumblr - @theplatinthehat - or leave a comment, I don't mind :)
> 
> Happy reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Automated phone calls are hell

"Have you ever considered a career in interior design?"

"Not really... why do you ask?"

"I was going to strongly suggest a change in direction. What even is that?" Donna asks, pointing at his 'wrestling' statue. 

Crowley opts not to answer, and instead heads to the kitchen for more alcohol. He's still in pain, but the alcohol seems to be dulling it a little. Or his nerves have been so badly damaged they aren't working anymore. With a sigh he opens another bottle of red wine and pours it into a glass.

"Can I tempt you to a spot of alcohol?"

She wanders into the kitchen, plant pot in hand. He scowls in its direction, and is satisfied as it starts to tremble.

You're still drinking?"

"It's happy hour somewhere!"

"Didn't you have enough earlier?"

"No such thing as enough."

"I can guarantee there is – been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Unless you've got some kind of super-alien tolerance for alcohol?"

"Alien?"

"Well, I presume you are an alien. Y'know – snake eyes, powers, weird taste in fashion, plants that quiver in fear. Alien, right? But I wanna know what species? And yes, I'll have some."

They clink their glasses together and take a long swig.

"Well, I'll confess I _am_ a little inhuman. But I'm no alien – I've known the Earth since it was created. And I was there before that as well."

"I saw the Earth created," Donna muses quietly, "But if you're not an alien, what are you?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Crowley sighs, raising his eyes to the heavens and dearly wishing Aziraphale were here to do the explaining. But then again, they'd be here for days as he explained the complexities of the divine creation and they really don't have time for that.

"I'm a demon."

"Ha! Very funny. No, seriously, tell me who you are."

He shrugs, "I'm a demon. A fallen angel. You must have heard of things like that?"

Now it's Donna's turn to shrug, "Never went to church. I'm more of a science person."

Crowley narrows his eyes. Although that's one of the party lines from down Below, he doesn't like it, mainly because he understands the intricacies of it all. 

"They're much the same."

The pair of them are silent.

Crowley rolls his shoulders, trying to get rid of the ache that's settled in his back. He'd let his wings out, but there isn't really space in the kitchen and he's too tired to move. He has another swig of wine.

"What about you then? You're human as far as I can tell. But you talk about travelling through space and time. No-one of mortal origin has that kind of power."

She smiles, "Ah, that's my friend – The Doctor. He's an alien – a Timelord – and he's got this ship, a blue box called the TARDIS that can go anywhere in time and space."

"Timelord? What a pompous name."

"You're telling me," she replies with a snort.

"Anywhere, eh? And you end up in boring-old London?"

"Oi! I'm from boring-old London if you don't mind. And the engines were playing up – we had to make an emergency landing. Besides, when has London ever been boring?"

"Fair."

"But yeah, I've been travelling with him for a while now. And I'm gonna travel with him forever."

"Forever?"

"Yeah – it's amazing. I never want to do anything else ever again."

"It must be amazing if you want to do it forever," he takes another sip of wine, "I know a little bit about forever. A lot can change in that time. And it's only fun if you've got good company."

Naturally his thoughts turn his angel. Where is he? How is he faring? What is he going to do about getting him back?

Donna puts down her glass and spreads the two notes on the table.

"So, the Doctor disappears with the TARDIS and this note is left behind," she points, trying to make sense of the whole affair in her head, "and your friend..."

"Aziraphale."

"Aziraphale, right, vanishes from that bookshop and _this_ note is left behind. They pretty much say the same thing about debt, and they both end with this weird symbol – which is very weird because I can't read it and the TARDIS can translate any language."

"Ah," says Crowley, swinging round the island to stand at her side, "that's because it's not a language. It's a sigil."

"A what?"

"A sigil. It's a demonic signature I guess. This belongs to the demon Hastur."

"There's more than one of you?"

"You have no idea."

"So does that mean there's a Heaven and a Hell and stuff?"

"Yeah."

Donna goes quiet. Suddenly faced with the reality of a life after death she's got nothing witty to say.

"Are you alright with that?" 

She shrugs, "I don't want to think about that right now. I just want to get the Doctor back."

"I think that's something we can work on."

"Right. So why has this Hastur kidnapped our friends? The Doctor has never mentioned him before?"

Crowley pulls a face, "Yeah... this one's on me. I kinda killed his best friend a few years ago."

"You _what_?"

"Alright, alright," he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender, "It wasn't exactly an _ideal_ situation but the world was ending – and a demon's gotta do what a demon's gotta do."

"Did you really need to kill him?"

Crowley narrows his eyes, "Are you really going to preach to me, a demon, about morality? I've already fallen from the highest grace there is. You'd be better off arguing with a brick wall. Besides, it was either him or me. And, I won't lie to you, Donna, I'm glad it was me."

She's silent. Crowley sighs.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you that I felt bad about it?"

"Only if you meant it."

He considers this for a moment, but decides not to go any further and opts instead to continue working out what the heaven has led them to this situation.

Morality can wait until he's wasted.

"I think Hastur's made a mistake. I think you crash-landed in London on the day he's decided to finally seek revenge. If your Doctor friend and I look so much alike, as you claim, it's quite likely he made the same error and grabbed him. Then once he's realised that he's got it wrong, which he really should be used to by now, he's come and got Aziraphale, knowing that I'll do anything to get him back."

Donna smiles. Crowley's glad. He didn't like her frown.

"You really care for him, don’t you?"

Now it's Crowley's turn to smile, "He's been the one constant for the last six thousand years. I'll be the first to admit I'd be lost without him. Even if he is obsessed with those bloody books."

Donna laughs and they both drink a little more.

"Why not just come and grab you? Why go to the bother of taking Aziraphale?"

"Maybe that was his plan all along – the Doctor was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"As usual."

"Get into trouble a lot?"

"You have _no_ idea."

Crowley takes another drink. "Regardless of all this, it doesn't help us with the problem at hand. We know that Hastur is out for my blood, and probably my mortal soul, but we don't know where he is."

"Any way we can find that out?"

The demon bites his lip.

"Yes..."

"Why do I sense there's a catch?"

"Well... my old boss... well... I'm fired, basically."

"You got fired from Hell?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"How do you get fired from Hell?"

"Stealing company pens. Sleeping on the job. Averting the Apocalypse. Little things like that."

Donna rolls her eyes.

"But Hastur still works for Down Below. I suppose I could risk giving Dagon a call... or even Beel..."

"I don't think we've got much of a choice."

She's right. If he wants any chance of seeing Aziraphale again he has to place the call.

He _hates_ phone calls.

One of the worst things humans ever came up with.

He grabs the office phone, brings it to the kitchen and dials.

"Welcome to Hell!" a bright voice cheerily announces, "I'm afraid we're currently experiencing high call volume. Please call back later, or hold the line, thank you!"

Almost immediately a very bad quality rendition of Justin Bieber's _Baby_ erupts through the speakers, and it takes all of Crowley's self-control not to throw the wretched thing out of the window.

Donna hangs up.

"What are you doing?"

"A trick my best friend, Shereen told me. Well, she's not my best friend. Best work friend? Not from my last job, about but five before that," she explains, re-dialling the number.

"And that trick would be?"

"This."

"Welcome to Hell!"

Donna hits the number zero as soon as the last syllable is out of the speaker's mouth with a satisfying _Beep!_.

"Thank you for holding the line. To help us direct your call, please select one of the following options."

Crowley groans and bashes his head against the counter-top in despair. Donna pats his shoulder in consolation.

"For the seven deadly sins, please press one. For demonic assistance, please press two. For an accidental summoning, please press three. For the refund of bartered souls, please press – "

"How many of these options are there?" Donna gapes, scarcely believing what she was hearing.

He shrugs, "Hell's a busy place."

She sighs and presses 2. Demonic assistance was probably the closest they were going to get to any actual help.

"Please hold while we direct your call."

Donna groans and lays the handset on the counter as Bieber's boyish tones blast through the kitchen.

"I should have known automated calling systems were created by demons."

"Hey! It wasn't all of us! Don't let one rotten apple spoil the barrel."

"No offence, but I expect the barrel is fairly spoilt."

Crowley starts to argue, but all that comes out is random noises.

He can't argue with the truth.

"Thank you for holding. Your call is very important to us."

They sit there for a good five minutes, listening to _Baby_ again and again.

"Surely Hell isn't _that_ busy."

"I think they're hoping we'll hang up."

Donna groans once more as _Baby_ fades out... and back in again.

"Bring back Queen," she mutters with a smile, head in her hands.

"Amen to that."

The song rolls round again, and so does the cheery message.

"This is ridiculous," snaps Donna, snatching up the handset.

As soon as the message restarts, she yells into the receiver, "I want to speak to a person, now!"

The message stops.

All is silent for a moment.

Crowley wonders if she’s crashed the system altogether.

"Certainly!" the voice replies cheerily, "connecting you to Demonic Assistance now."

And blessed relief it's dial tones they hear, not Justin Bieber.

"I can't believe that worked" Crowley exclaims.

"Neither can I!" Donna laughs, giving the demon a hug.

Uncharacteristically, he returns it whole-heartedly.

"Demonic Assistance – how can we help?"

"Dagon!" Crowley cries, scooping up the receiver and greeting the voice on the phone like long-lost pal, "How are you keeping?"

"Crowley? What – why are you calling? You have no business here anymore."

"Aww, that's no way to greet an old friend."

"We were never friends, Crowley. I really shouldn't be talking to you, so I'm going to hang up now."

"What kind of demon are you if you follow the rules?"

"Bye, Crowley."

"Wait!" Donna yells, taking the phone, and the conversation, away from Crowley.

"Who is this please?"

"That's not important. We're trying to locate a demon named Hastur. He's kidnapped our friends, and we need any information you have on his whereabouts."

"Hastur? Crowley, what's going on?"

"Hastur has kidnapped Aziraphale, and a mortal known as the Doctor. We think it might be a revenge thing for... well... you know."

"I do know," Dagon growls.

Crowley grimaces; he should have known this would still be a touchy subject.

"We just want to get our friends back," Donna explains gently, "that's all we want. So if you could help us we'd be very grateful."

Dagon barks out a laugh, "Being nice won't get you very far down here, ma'am. However, seeing as this involves that angel... hang on, let me just ask my manager." Dagon's voice drifts off, as though they've moved away from the phone, "Beel! Any word on Hastur? Apparently he's kidnapped an angel and a mortal."

They can hear a quiet reply, but the words are indecipherable.

"Aziraphale. Do you not think that Up There would have let us know if it was someone _actually_ on their books."

Crowley hisses, but Donna puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

Dagon returns to the phone. The demon sounds concerned.

"Hastur's on leave."

"He's on _what?_ " Crowley spits.

"On leave. It was decided that he... needed a break. He was unstable, and that wasn't conducive to a good working environment."

"Neither are the rats but you haven't done anything about those since 1665!"

Dagon ignores him, "That's beside the point."

"Then get to the point – quickly!"

"We don't know where Hastur is."

The news hits Crowley like a blow to the stomach.

"Surely you must know?" Donna asks.

Dagon clears their throat, "Yes, this is a little embarrassing. But unfortunately, at the moment we don't know where he is."

"And do you have any means of finding him?"

"No, ma'am."

Hastur could be _anywhere_.

Donna sighs, "OK, thank you for your help. And maybe you should do something about those rats."

The line goes dead.

Donna hangs up the phone.

"What do we do now?"

The universe has strange ways of answering questions like that.

There's a knock at the door.

Provided that you aren't a complete hermit, a socially-isolated demon, or currently dwelling in a building without a door, knocking is a completely normal occurrence. It can herald a whole host of wonderful things; a dear friend visiting from far away, a neighbour returning a lost cat or the long-awaited delivery person bringing the very best Chinese food from the other side of the city.  
Sadly, Crowley definitely fell under the 'socially-isolated demon' category and a knock on the door was _highly_ unusual.

"Expecting someone?" Donna asks, turning to face the sound. 

"Absolutely not," he murmurs, slinking past her, "keep quiet."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't open her mouth.

Crowley pads over to the door and takes a look through the peephole. Aziraphale has often teased him about this feature, asking why he had such a thing considering he never answered the door. Crowley always claimed that he liked to know who he was ignoring. 

Today that was paying back dividends.

It was Hastur – the ugly, unblinking frog that lived on his head filling up the fish-eye of the glass.

The demon curses.

"Crowley! Open up, it's me! We have... business."

He's silent, thankful that as a demon he has no reason to breathe. 

There's another knock, followed by a succession of hard hammers on the wood. He hears footsteps recede down the corridor.

"Has he gone?" Donna asks, and Crowley puts a finger to his lips.

He peeps again.

Hastur has moved a few steps back. In his hands he holds something. No, not holding. He's creating... summoning...

"Get back!" Crowley yells, diving down the corridor as the door is consumed by a blast of hellfire.

Donna ducks behind the island as bits of wood punch their way into the apartment. Crowley crawls on his belly back towards the kitchen, hoping to disappear before the smoke clears.

"Crowley... I know you're in here. If you want to see your best friend again, you'll come out now."

There's another blast of flames and the walls are consumed in the blaze. Rubble falls around Crowley's body and he decides to stay still, hoping that he remains undetected until he can think of a plan. The smoke rises and he can hear Donna start to cough.

"Pathetic! I can hear you choking. You're a demon, Crowley – you don’t need to breathe."

That means he doesn't know that Donna is with him.

Is that good or bad?

He doesn't have time to dwell on it now.

Hastur strides into one of the other rooms off the corridor. The bedroom? The office? It doesn't really matter either way. He stands and sprints back into the kitchen.

Donna has managed to open the doors onto the balcony and is kneeling down, gasping for clean air. Crowley grabs her shoulders.

"Are you ok?" 

She manages to nod, but he can tell that she's struggling.

"We need to get back to the Bentley. Now."

"But the fire..."

Crowley curses. Hellfire has no effect on him, but he knows full well what it will do to a mortal body. He paces, trying to think of a plan. Hastur roars and a window explodes outward with the force of his rage.

He grabs the railings of the balcony and looks for a way out. The Bentley is parked right beneath them, but there's no way down – the fire escape is on the other side of the flat.

Major design flaw. 

He'll have to have a word.

Crowley stands up to his full height, and extends his wings. Donna looks up, expression unreadable. It's definitely somewhere between total surprise and weary acceptance but Crowley can't think of a name for it right now.

He helps Donna to her feet.

"You have... wings."

"Congratulations. I'm pleased to inform you that your eyes are definitely working."

He puts his arms around her waist, to which she yelps and pushes him away.

"What do you think you're doing?" she yells, outraged.

"Crowley!" Hastur yells, also outraged.

The demon clamps his hands down on her shoulders, "Trust me?"

"No! I just met you!"

"Argh! Well – do you agree that I'm probably the only person that can get you out of this?"

Donna looks behind him, and yelps again. Crowley spins round, and there's Hastur. He's standing at the heart of the inferno, looking right at home. His hands are aglow. With supernatural speed Crowley manages to pull Donna out of the way of yet another pulse of hellfire. The balcony railings twist and buckle – a gaping hole that only leads down, down, down. There's a metallic creak, and he can see Hastur preparing for another attack.

They're backed into a corner.

And this time, he won't miss.

No time to argue, he grabs Donna (praying to someone that he won't drop the human) and launches them from the balcony.

For a moment, they hang. A star flung into the heart of space. A single proton suspended in a hydrogen atom. 

And then they fall.

Donna is screaming. But it's not a scream of fear. No, it's a scream of exhilaration – of _delight_ almost.

The balcony is consumed by flames – he can feel the melted metal brush his wings, setting feathers aflame. A piece streaks past his face, a tiny meteor, leaving a long cut across his cheek.

He spreads his wings to slow the fall. Their terminal velocity will not be a fatal one.

They hit the ground and it's only by a miracle (metaphorically, not literally) that they don't break any bones. He puts Donna back on her feet and hand-in-hand they run to the Bentley.

Donna's clearly very used to running.

They clamber in and Crowley puts the pedal to the metal – shooting away from the flat as fast as they can.

"What the hell?" Donna asks.

There's a loud _BANG!_ and in the rear-view mirror Crowley watches the remains of his flat become totally engulfed by flames.

His home.

His _plants_.

He'll have to mourn those later. Right now, he and Donna have got to do their best Houdini impressions and vanish.

She's turned around to have a look at the fire, and this movement has revealed a long cut on her neck. It's not deep, thankfully. She'll be just fine.

"I hope everyone else got out alright. Didn't have a chance to pull the fire alarm." She turns back to address Crowley, "What now?"

He doesn't have a witty answer. He doesn't have _any_ answer.

"I – I don't know."

"Have you got anywhere we can hide for a bit? Like a safe house?"

"A safe house? Donna – that's all I have. It's just you, me and the Bentley. I have nothing else. No resources, no friends and no plan." His voice rises with his panic, "And we have _no_ time because heaven only knows what Hastur will be doing to Aziraphale and your friend and – "

His voice breaks. 

He will _not_ cry. Not now. And _certainly_ not in front of a mortal.

Demons don't cry.

Demons don't get scared.

Donna places a comforting hand on his arm.

"I know somewhere we can go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my mum who legit yelled "I want to speak to a person" at the phone once and it worked - you're an inspiration to us all.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! This is actually the second piece of work where I've made fun of automated phone systems. I might do it some more.
> 
> On a separate note - this chapter alone is making the fic twice as long, lmao.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked. If you fancy, come and yell at me on Tumblr - I'm theplatinthehat
> 
> Thank you so much for all your lovely feedback so far - I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you enjoyed the rest!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one find a rogue demon, exactly?

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat, Mr Crowley?"

The question jerks Crowley from his reverie. He'd been happily daydreaming about his plants, his angel and his body _not_ being in immense pain. But back in this miserable reality, he has none of those things and there's only a glass of red wine standing between him and sheer bloody panic.

"It's just Crowley. And, no thank you – the wine will do me just fine."

Sylvia regards the demon with suspicion, but accepts his answer, taking the pan of steaming casserole back into the kitchen.

She'd probably be more suspicious if she actually _knew_ that he was a demon.

"Donna, will you please sit down. It's difficult enough to get your granddad to sit and eat when you aren't here."

Donna rolls her eyes and takes a seat at the table.

"And I don't know why you couldn't have given us more notice that you were coming home. I'd have made something a little more exciting for you and Mr Crowley."

Now it's Crowley's turn to roll his eyes.

Donna's granddad, Wilf, enters and sits down across from them. He narrows his eyes at Crowley. Behind the sunglasses, Crowley narrows his.

Sylvia turns to regard Crowley again, "Won't you take your sunglasses off? It's awfully bright in here."

"He's got an eye condition, mum," Donna lies through a mouthful of the casserole. "It's the brightness that's making him keep them on."

"Well why didn't you say so? I can close the curtains."

"That won't be necessary, Sylvia." Addressing this complete stranger by her first name feels funny in his mouth, but he makes a good go of it, "Thank you."

She seems unsatisfied. 

"Are you one of them aliens?" Wilf asks.

Crowley stifles a groan. Donna just snorts into her lunch.

"You're the second person to ask me that today. No, I'm not."

"For goodness sake, dad, you can't just go ‘round asking people if they're aliens!"

"Why-ever not?"

"Because... because it might be offensive."

With a sigh, Crowley stands.

"Where are you going?" Donna asks.

"I'm going to get some air – I'm not feeling too great."

Sylvia points him to the back door. As he steps out into the garden, he hears Sylvia ask, "Are you _sure_ they're not related? They look awfully alike."

"Yes, mum!" came the exasperated reply.

The door shuts behind him with a satisfying slam. He stands for a moment, letting the sounds and scents wash over him. The wind whispers through the trees. Children laugh in a neighbouring garden. The smell of a summer BBQ drifts through the fence posts. 

Normality.

How strange a sensation it is.

He drinks it in.

There's a bench, colours faded from months spent in the sun. The same sun now warms his skin. He hadn't realised how cold he was. He sits and allows himself to take stock of what has happened in the last few hours.

1\. Aziraphale has gone.

Crowley knows why, but he doesn't know where. It could take days to find him. They might not _have_ days to find him. A sense of loss rises in his chest. He's felt it before, that fateful day when all he could find of his friend was a burning bookshop. 

He'd given up.

_Aziraphale._

Losing him again is almost too much.

He pushes the thoughts aside. Hastur has no business with Aziraphale. It is far more likely than not that his angel is unharmed.

Hope.

He clings to it as a castaway, lost in the middle of the endless ocean, clings to driftwood and a prayer for rain.

2\. The Doctor is also missing. 

This was almost certainly a mistake on Hastur's part. But why not just release the mortal and resume his revenge business? No, something isn't quite right there. He makes a mental note to think this through a little more, later on.

3\. Donna. 

What a conundrum she is. 

A totally ordinary mortal woman with the ferocity and fight of an avenging angel, and a sharp wit to match his own. A woman who defeated a hellhound with nothing but an umbrella. A woman who talks about flying through time and space.

A woman who is standing over him with a bottle of wine in hand.

"Fancy a top up?"

He holds out the glass, "Did you really need to ask?"

She fills both their glasses and they clink them together – toasting to what? Survival? Friendship? A pleasant homemade casserole? Crowley doesn't really care.

"Are you alright?" Donna asks, turning to look at him.

Despite the dark lenses, he gets the feeling that she's staring right into his soul. He's about to lie and cover up his fear with an offhand remark about mortal food. 

But there's no point with Donna.

"No."

"Are you scared?"

"More in pain than scared," he replies truthfully.

His candour surprises even him.

"I can get you some painkillers – although I expect they won't have much effect on you."

"You expect right."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Crowley smiles. It's only a small one, but it feels like a miracle against the odds they've been facing.

"No. But thanks for the offer."

The sunlight catches in her hair, illuminating it in glorious shades of red. 

His hair shone that brightly once.

It's at times like these that he likes to drive. Drive so far and so fast until the night comes and he can get out and count the stars. The stars calm him somehow. Listing their names gives him something to do instead of acknowledging the overwhelming sense of dread that rises like a tsunami every time he tries to go to sleep.

_Sirius. Rigel. Altair._

"I miss the stars."

He thinks she'll understand. She's played in their light long enough.

"Yeah."

"I helped make some of them."

"Really? That must make you... well, over 4 billion years old."

"I suppose it does."

"You're looking good for it."

They laugh. The children next door scream in delight.

"How long have you been on Earth?"

"Since humankind – about 6,000 years."

"I can't believe it. You're actually older than the Doctor."

"How old is he?"

"900 years – give or take."

"A wee baby," Crowley chuckles.

"How did you meet? You and Aziraphale?"

"On the first day. We were on opposite sides, but we met on the garden wall. He sheltered me from the first storm despite everything I'd done. And I fell for him, right there and then. Took him a bit longer to catch up." He has another drink, "What about you?"

She blows her hair out of her eyes, and considers how to tell the story.

"He kidnapped me from my wedding on Christmas Day."

"Oh – sorry."

"Don't be. My husband-to-be was planning to feed me to a giant spider under the Thames."

" _What?_ "

"Yeah. There was a big spaceship over London – looked like a massive star. Maybe you heard about it?"

"The only big star I heard about was over Bethlehem, two thousand years ago. Nice place. Bit busy. That was also my fault."

"You get around then?"

"Plenty in the old days. Now, I'm pretty settled in London."

"I can't imagine being settled here."

"I thought you liked London?"

"I do, but..." she trails off.

"Once you've seen the stars, the streetlights look a little less bright?"

"Yes," she sighs, "I can't imagine ever being satisfied with life on Earth again."

"Some of us don’t get a choice."

They lapse into silence again.

"I don't know what to do, Donna," Crowley confesses.

"What do you mean?"

"About Hastur. I have no idea where he could be, and I have no idea what he'll be doing to our friends."

"Surely not anything really bad?"

"Donna, he's a demon. A _literal_ demon. He's the embodiment of everything bad – everything _evil._ "

She shrugs and has a bit more wine, "You don't seem too bad to me."

"I'm a bit different. I've always been a bit different."

Donna shrugs again, "OK. What do you want to do about it then?"

"Do about what?"

"Getting Aziraphale and the Doctor back, duh. As my mother always says, the best plan to make is to make a plan. Or maybe that was my cousin? I can't remember."

Crowley frowns, "I don't know. If I knew where he was then I certainly wouldn't be here."

"Then how do we find him?"

"I don't know, Donna! Do you not think I've been trying to work out where they are?"

He curses the fact that panic is creeping into his voice, laying bare how much the whole situation is affecting him.

"Calm down – you're not thinking straight. If this were any other day, and you were trying to find one of your... demonic associates, what would you look for?"

"Well, demonic activity."

"And what does that look like?"

He waves his hands around and makes unhelpful noises.

"Anything that _humans_ could pick up on?"

Crowley stops to think this time. Considering that he's a demon, he's hardly the expert on what humans can pick up on. 

But there might be a few things.

"Well if Hastur is operating outside of the system Downstairs then he can't be using regular methods of transportation."

"Good. But how does that help us?"

"Well, there are only a few ways in and out of Hell that aren't monitored. Damned souls try and get out quite a lot, and we don't really want that."

He tries to laugh the statement off, but Donna doesn't seem to find it funny. Crowley coughs and continues.

"But an unauthorised opening to the Underworld _would_ have some signs. Probably much warmer than usual – "

"Try the whole country, sunshine."

" – Unusual activity I suppose, but a human would be unfortunate to see it if it drifted onto the mortal plane. There would be demonic wards around it, and I guess that would make people move past it quicker than normal."

"Anything more specific?"

“I suppose a sensitive human or a witch might be able to help track it…”

“Well I’m afraid I don’t have any of those on speed-dial.”

“I do;” Crowley mutters, “they’re both on holiday.”

Donna is about to spit back a scathing retort but the back-door pops open. It’s Wilf.

“Donna. Your mother would like to know if either of you want dessert?”

Crowley shakes his head and Donna declines. The demon hopes this will be enough to make the old man go away, but to his horror he steps outside.

“Nice afternoon,” he muses, shoving his hands into his scruffy coat pockets.

Neither of them answers him.

“Goodness me, Donna. What’s wrong? I haven’t seen you like this for ages.”

“Sorry, Gramps. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“The Doctor’s gone missing. So has the TARDIS.”

“Really?” Wilf gapes, eyes wide.

“Yeah. Crowley’s friend vanished around the same time.”

“Oh – I’m so sorry.”

Crowley waves the apology away.

“Are you going to go and get them back?”

“Of course! We just don’t know where they are.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Donna laughs sadly, “Not really.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Not unless you can sense any demonic miracle activity in a 20-mile radius,” Crowley mutters.

Wilf laughs, “No, I guess not.” He turns to walk away, “The only miracle I’ve heard about on the radio is that the M25 is moving much better than usual.”

Crowley jumps to his feet. “The M25!” he yells, smacking a hand to his forehead, “I’m a complete and utter idiot – why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

“What about the M25?” Donna asks, putting down her glass.

“I helped design it. It’s shaped like… well, it’s shaped to cause massive build ups of traffic.”

“That doesn’t sound very demonic.”

“Well, I suppose not – it’s more about minor annoyances and the free will of mortals than _actual_ evil.”

Donna stares back, thoroughly confused.

Crowley gets to the point, “Whatever – that doesn’t matter. What _does_ matter is the back-door to Downstairs I built into lane 6 of junction 13.”

“Junction 13 doesn’t have six lanes.”

“On this plane it doesn’t.”

“So that means…” Donna breathes, realisation dawning on the human.

“Hastur’s been going in and out of my own damn secret tunnel. The cheek of it!”

“So that means we know where they are?”

“We know where they are,” Crowley confirms. He can’t help but smile.

Donna squeals in delight, and throws her arms around the demon for the second time that day. They both start to laugh.

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Crowley says, catching her arm before she can sprint to the M25 like a one-woman army. “We can’t just waltz into Hell itself completely unarmed and without some kind of plan.”

“Why not?”

“Hell! What do you mean Hell?”

They’d forgotten Wilf was still standing there. Donna and Crowley look at each other, wearing twin expressions that clearly read _Bother, I said too much, didn’t I?_

“It’s… metaphor - ,” starts Crowley.

“ - hard to explain,” cuts in Donna, “Why don’t you go back inside and keep mum company?”

Wilf nods, and does as he’s told.

“Sorry,” Crowley apologies, but Donna doesn’t mind.  
“Besides, it’s hardly the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.”

“Really?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, “Because hellfire can do very, very nasty things to a human body.”

“I flew out of Vesuvius when it erupted.”

“There will be hellhounds aplenty.”

“We’ve already dealt with one of those today.”

“It will smell _really_ bad.”

She wrinkles her nose at that, “Could it be worse than…”

“Probably.”

“Well… it doesn’t really matter does it? If I want to get the Doctor back then I don’t have a choice.”

“It’s still immeasurably dangerous. I don’t want to be sauntering in there without some kind of plan or defence.”

“Then what do you suggest?” she asks, with an impatient tap of her foot.

“That’s what I’m trying – argh!”

Crowley’s sentence is abruptly cut off as he’s doused with a stream of very cold water.

“Oi!” Donna yells, running to the fence, “What have we told you about squirting those into our garden?”

Dripping, Crowley follows her and takes a peek into the garden next door. Two children, holding water pistols half their height, stand meekly, knowing that they’ve been caught being bad. They wait for a stern telling off from the damp demon.

Crowley smiles.

He has a better idea.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could borrow those?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I looked up how many lanes were at junction 13 on the M25. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked. If you fancy, come and yell at me on Tumblr - I'm theplatinthehat
> 
> Thank you so much for all your lovely feedback so far - honestly, the response to this fic has been overwhelming. I treasure each one of your lovely comments. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you enjoyed the rest!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're on the highway to hell (and it's full of traffic)

“I thought you said Hatsur was making the M25 run _faster than usual?_ ”

Donna was mad.

So was Crowley to be fair, but he was doing a better job of keeping a lid on it. They’d gotten themselves ready to walk face-first into Hell. The two water pistols were armed and dangerous – one with regular water, and the other with the holy stuff (marked clearly with a red ‘H’ for _Holy, Hell no_ and _Heaven help us if Crowley touches this_ ). How Donna had managed to convince/sweet talk/bully the vicar of the local church to bless the water pistol and refill flask, Crowley didn’t know (mainly because he’d sat in the car, unwilling to do the ‘help my feet are burning’ dance again), but he was immensely gratefully that she’d managed it. 

They’d departed the Noble neighbourhood like a couple of cool kids from a teen movie and whizzed onto the M25.

Where they’d promptly hit a massive queue of traffic.

That had been an hour ago.

Freddie Mercury’s voice starts drifting through the speakers, singing about how much he was in love with his car. Crowley flicks he stereo off with a growl. He had his suspicions that the Bentley knew when he was in a bad mood, and always knew the best song to make it _worse_.

“What’s with all the Queen songs?”

“Gah! All music turns into the _Best of Queen_ if it’s left in the car for more than two weeks.”

“Right. How long have you had it – the car I mean?”

“Since 1926 – I got it new.”

Donna frowns. Crowley narrows his eyes. They creep forward a metre or two. A horn blares off to the left, setting off a chain reaction of horns that ricochets backwards down the motorway for at least five miles.

“So, what happened before Queen?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, what happened before Queen? Your cassettes couldn’t have turned into Queen before Queen was a thing. So, what happened before that?”

The demon was stumped. No-one had ever asked him that before. He wracked his brain, trying to remember what had happened… but that had been well over forty years ago.

“I… can’t remember…”

Donna harrumphs, and folds her arms.

“This is getting ridiculous. I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to come and sit in the country’s largest car park.”

“I guess I did my job a bit too well.”

“Damn right. The TARDIS would have whipped us in and out without anyone knowing a thing about it.”

Crowley scowls, “I’m sorry this isn’t a time-hopping, space-flying machine, but it has survived the Apocalypse and has served me very well, thank you very much.”

He expects her to spit back one of her quickfire retorts.

Instead, Donna sighs, “Sorry. It’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s the motorway. It’s meant to do this – wind people up so their tempers are frayed by the time they get to work. Works better than hundreds of temptations.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Is there nothing we can do to go faster?”

“Normally I’d just miracle the traffic out of the way. But after everything at the bookshop I’m not gonna use my miracle energy so frivolously.”

At the mention of the bookshop his abdomen twinges in pain. 

Bloody _heaven_ that hurt.

“Are you alright?”

The pain must have been written all over his face.

“I’ll be fine soon enough.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but all of a sudden, the traffic loosens up and all thoughts of the topic are forgotten.

“Quick! Get into the lane!”

Crowley happily obliges and they find themselves cruising down lane 5 towards junction 13.

“Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Hold on!” Crowley yells with a laugh, swerving violently towards the crash barrier.

Donna gives a little scream, which dissolves into a laugh as they plunge into the infernal lane 6. The traffic disappears. The sky turns orange. Flames lick the sides of the Bentley.

“Are we safe?” Donna asks.

“Of course not,” Crowley replies, “We’re literally driving into Hell. But don’t worry – this car has been through much worse.”

It has been said that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. As with many sayings of this ilk, people have taken it upon themselves to work out what this means. Some say that it refers to actions taken with the best will in the world that still manage bear evil consequences. Others profess that it refers to good intentions that are met with no actions at all.

This is all rather irrelevant conjecture as this particular road to Hell was paved with remarkably good quality tarmac.

Crowley frowns.

Hastur. It must be. 

A dodgy road leads to a dodgy end for any evil work after all.

Dark rocks reach high above them, funnelling them further and further into the gloom. It gets dark, the orange sky a mere memory now in this foreboding place. Crowley flicks the lights on. The temperature plummets. Donna’s teeth start chattering.

“I thought Hell was supposed to be full of fire and brimstone and all that jazz?”

“Only some bits. Others are infernally cold. Revenge is a dish best served hot or cold, depending on who you ask.”

“I’m not asking anyone! I just want a coat.”

He turns up the heating and hopes that’s enough to keep her quiet for a bit.

The rocks have clasped their fingers overhead and they’re now driving in a tunnel. Crowley doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s worried. He _built_ this road, but he has no idea where it’s going. It was supposed to be a shortcut to the Head Office, but he can feel the demonic energy getting fainter and fainter.

They’re heading away from the centre of what he knows, and into the heart of a web he doesn’t recognise.

And Hastur is the spider, pulling the threads and enticing them ever closer.

What on earth is down here?

“Crowley!”

The demon jumps, and slams on the brakes. The Bentley skids to a halt right in front of a sign that reads _Danger: Under Construction_ , complete with blinking yellow lights.

_Oh._

He gets out of the Bentley.

_Yes._

Crowley just about recognises this place in the half light. The architecture. The carved markings. 

He can almost smell the sulphur; feel his burnt wings.

Hastur’s here.

_Not here._

There’s nowhere else he could be.

_Please. Anywhere else but here._

“Under construction? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Donna is out of the car now. She’s putting on a brave face, but she is clearly very cold and very scared. No amount of bravado could cover up the quiver in her question.

He skirts around her query and opens the boot, digging around amongst the various bits and pieces that have accumulated over the years. A carved walking stick (apple, Kenilworth, 1347), a signed copy of the Adulterer’s Bible (oh how he’d howled with laughter at that) and an original Beatles LP (oh blast, that would be Queen now wouldn’t it?).

“Aha!” he cries with triumph, yanking a white coat from the very bottom of the detritus, “You still want a coat?”

Donna takes it gratefully, “I thought you said you couldn’t do any more miracles at the moment?”

“Ah well, this miracle is called Aziraphale. He’s always leaving his coats behind.”

She slips the garment on and gives her arms a rub.

“What is this place?”

Crowley makes a non-committal noise, “You wouldn’t like it.”

Donna puts her hands on her hips, “We’re in Hell. What makes you think I would like _any_ of it.”

“Fair.”

“Just answer the question,” she sighs.

That’s when it hits him. Well, perhaps ‘hits’ is a too strong a descriptor. ‘Hits’ implies violence. Pain. This is soft. Gentle. A tiny candle flame against a growing storm.

A light that shines in the darkness, but the darkness does not overcome it.

“ _Aziraphale,_ ” he breathes.

Yes. He’d know his angel’s presence anywhere.

“He’s here?” Donna asks, looking wildly around the cavern.

Crowley swivels round, desperately trying to catch on to the direction of the angel.

“DOCTOR!” Donna starts yelling.

“Shhh!” he hisses, clamping a hand over her mouth.

She elbows him in the stomach, but he holds on.

Nothing.

They were lucky this time.

“Get off!” she snaps, shoving him roughly away.

“You need to stop screaming.”

“And you need to stop grabbing me!”

“I only grab when you scream.”

“And I’ll scream some more if you do it again!”

“Shh! Or do you want all the legions of Hell to descend on us?”

She takes his point, but from the way she bites her lip Crowley knows he’s still in big trouble. He pops open the back door and gestures for her to arm herself. He does the same, reaching out for another sign of Aziraphale’s angelic presence.

“Are you going to tell me where we are or not?”

“If you _must_ know, we’re in a prison. Never got finished – like so many of the grand designs down here.”

“A prison for what?”

“Angels.”

“ _Angels?_ ”

“Yes, angels. Hush now, I need to concentrate.”

“This Aziraphale – does he ever have the urge to _punch you in the face_?”

“Oddly enough, I’ve never asked, and if you don’t shut up you’ll never get the chance to ask him yourself, so will you _please_ let me do what I need to do.”

She growls in annoyance, and for a second Crowley’s convinced she’ll slap him again.

Donna shows remarkable self-control. 

Crowley straightens out his jacket with a little huff and closes his eyes. The fact that he’s able to sense _anything_ of the angel in this place is nothing short of miraculous.  
There it is again. A little white thread in the maze. Ariadne’s thread in the Labyrinth. He reaches out with his mind and grabs a hold of it.

He knows the way.

“I’ve got it. We need to go this way,” striding towards one of the tunnels.

“What does Hell need a prison for angels for?”

“Why do you think? Prisoners of war have got to go somewhere…”

“But it never got finished?”

“The war got called off. Several times, in fact.” He pauses, “But the first one…”

“You fought?”

Crowley shrugged, “I didn’t really mean to. Bit of a case of if you aren’t for us, then by definition you’re against us. You are the weakest link, goodbye.”

“What happened?”

“I fell. All the way from heaven.”

“And you fell here?”

He shivers. How does she see right through him?

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

She shrugged, “It must have hurt.”

“It did.”

They walk a little further into the dark. The cold wind whips around them, biting at any exposed flesh. Donna puts her hood up. Crowley picks up a piece of discarded wood and lights it with some hellfire of his own, making their shadows dance against the wall. The lights of the Bentley lie forgotten far behind them.

“How do you lock up an angel? Surely they could just fly out? Or miracle themselves away?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Good ones, I hope?”

“They’re perceptive, I’ll give you that. Anyway, that’s what these are for,” Crowley taps one of the rock-cut sigils, “These will bind an angel’s powers, an angel’s _essence_.”

“So,” Donna asks, hopping over a particularly large obstruction, “how come you’re sensing Aziraphale? If his essence is being bound by these symbols then surely you wouldn’t be able to feel him.”

It’s a good point.

“I think it’s to do with his position when he was in Heaven. He’s no common-or-garden angel. He’s a Principality – the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

“I didn’t ask for his CV.”

Crowley laughs, “No. But this place was only designed for lower-rank angels. The stuff for the higher choirs was never com – “

Donna grabs the demon and pulls him into a side-passage. He tries to protest but one of her hands covers his mouth. She cocks her head to the end of the passage as if to say _Shut up and look!_

And look he does.

There, in all its horrifying, terrifying glory, is a hellhound. The creature before them bares very little resemblance to what they (well, Donna) had fought in the bookshop earlier.

Why would it?

Here, in the bowels of the Underworld, it can exist in its full infernal form. Flames pour from the eye sockets that had lain bare on Earth. Matted black fur has been traded for a grisly skeleton, lumps of flesh swinging deliriously from any surface it can cling to. Every step ignites sparks from the obsidian rock.

And the _smell_.

Crowley has lived through the worst of humanity. The Black Death. The Industrial Revolution. The rise of London from the stinking, stinking Thames. 

This.

This is a hundred, a _thousand_ times worse.

Disease.

Blood.

 _Death_.

The ghastly scent clings to the beast as moss grows on a gravestone. 

It hasn’t noticed them.

“Donna,” he whispers, praying to someone that it doesn’t hear him, “you need to shoot it.”

“Can’t we just wait? It’s leaving, see?”

She was right. The hellhound has clearly lost interest in whatever had attracted its attention in the first place. It pads off, clawing sparks from the floor of the tunnel.

They wait for a moment.

Donna exhales.

Screams.

It’s in their face.

Jaws gnash.

Claws scratch.

Throat roars.

How?

It was gone.

Donna is screaming, the beast is snapping and Crowley can barely piece together what’s happening it’s going so fast.

Teeth.

Claws.

Avoid _those_.

He pulls Donna further back into the tunnel. The hellhound attempts to follow but it’s too big – shoulders wedged firmly between the dark rock. Some part of Crowley’s mind that isn’t completely freaking out has registered that he dropped his torch some time ago. No matter, he can see clearly thanks to the hellish blue flames that cascade from the creature’s face. They slosh onto the floor like tears.

Donna is still screaming.

“Stand back,” he yells and fires his water pistol right into its gaping maw.

The hellhound attempts to retreat, but its shoulders are stuck fast. It can’t escape. 

They back into a wall. Neither can they.

“Donna! You need to shoot it.”

“You just did! It didn’t _do_ anything!”

“Yes, that’s because mine’s not holy. I just made it mad!”

With a great cry, the beast frees itself its rocky prison and backs off for another attack.

“Fantastic! Great work, Crowley!”

“Just shoot the damn thing!”

With a fierce snarl of her own she surges forward and shoots the creature right between the eyes.

It stops for a moment, regarding the pair of them with something like surprise. There’s a hissing sound, like when you drop cold water on a hot stove.

It _howls._

It’s a howl so loud, so strong, that it shakes the very foundations of the tunnel they’re in. Donna clutches her hands to her head, and Crowley shields her body with his own form. Something like a death knell rings in their ears.

The beast flees the tunnel, but they can hear its cries and screams and howls as it dies.

Not just dies.

Completely burns out of existence.

Crowley bites down on his hand, and tries not to think of Ligur. Tries not to think of Aziraphale, standing and taking his place.

_There but for the grace of God stand I._

It stops.

Crowley uncoils himself and Donna stands up straight, brushing herself off. The hellhound is gone, but as they re-join the main passage, they find its gooey remains seeping between the cracks in the rock. Donna wrinkles her nose.

“The Doctor fought someone off with a water pistol once. It didn’t smell this bad.”

Crowley hums in response. He’s found his torch and relights it.

The pull of the thread in the dark is even stronger now.

“We can’t be far.”

He’s right. It’s only a few more metres before they emerge into a new cavern. It’s not quite as large as the first, but it’s still very impressive. There are already a number of flaming torches here. Yes, Hastur has been busy. Cells line the edge of the cavern, but they’re all empty.

Where is he?

“Wow, it’s much warmer in here. I’ll take this coat off.”

Where is he?

“Crowley?” a voice asks.

The demon whips around, trying to find the source of that blessed voice.

“Crowley, my dear boy, what on earth are you doing here?”

There he is. Aziraphale. A vision in white (well, cream and beige) in the midst of this red, red hell.

“Looking for you, you idiot!”

Crowley throws himself at the angel, clinging to the bars of his prison. The angel appears to be unharmed (thank Heaven for that), but his wrists are bound. Angel cuffs, Crowley surmises from the sigils engraved into the metal. Aziraphale steps up to the bars and rests his forehead against Crowley’s.

“I’ve been praying that you’d come and get me out of this awful place. Thank you, my dear.”

“I heard you. I felt you. You led me here.”

“Can’t take full credit for that,” Donna coughs.

The two of them break apart, and Aziraphale regards the mortal with some confusion.

“She’s… human. And alive?”

“I thought you said he was clever? I _distinctly_ remember you saying he was clever.”

“He’s been kidnapped, cut him some slack.”

“ _He_ is standing right here and doesn’t appreciate being referred to in the third person, thank you very much.”

Crowley coughs, and gestures towards Donna.

“Aziraphale. This is Donna Noble. She saved my life this morning, and helped me find you. Donna, this is… this is Aziraphale.”

He can’t help it. He lets Aziraphale’s name slip from his lips like a prayer.

“It’s lovely to finally met you,” Donna replies, attempting to shake his cuffed hands, “Shall we see what we can do about getting you out of here?”

“Right you are! Where _is_ here anyway?”

Crowley hands Donna the flask, and she pours its contents all over the bars. They hiss and begin to dissolve. They all take a step back as the reaction spits and fizzes violently.

“It’s an angel prison.”

Aziraphale gapes, “You _have_ one of those?”

“Like Heaven doesn’t have a demon prison.”

“It isn’t… necessary.”

Now it’s Crowley’s turn to stare.

“There’s a turn up for the books,” Donna quips, “The demons showing more mercy than angels.”

“Only some angels,” the demon replies quietly, “Besides, this lot clearly gave up on mercy when they stopped building this place.”

With a final hiss the bars are gone and Aziraphale steps forward. Crowley removes the cuffs with a wave of his hand, his demonic energy enough to make them obey his will. Aziraphale rubs his wrists with a satisfied smile.

“Thank you very much for your help, Donna.”

The human smiles, but waves the compliment away as if she’s used to receiving such gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” Crowley adds with a sarcastic smile, “In case you hadn’t noticed I - _oof!_ ”

Crowley’s remarks are abruptly cut off by the angel picking him up and spinning him around in a joyous hug. They laugh. Right there, in the depths of Hell, they laugh.

“Thank you, Crowley. Thank you for coming to get me.”

The demon looks down and sees tears shining on the angel’s cheeks. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Hastur has got Hell to pay now.

No-one makes his angel cry.

As Aziraphale releases him a stab of pain burst through his abdomen. He grabs his side in pain and collapses none-too-gracefully to the floor. A cry of agony rips itself from his throat.

“Crowley. Crowley! What on earth is wrong?”

“He got attacked by a hellhound in the bookshop! The thing scratched him in the stomach. He tried to heal himself but he’s been in agony all day,” Donna explains.

“A hellhound? In my bookshop. The sign _clearly_ says no dogs.”

“Of all the things I just told you, _that’s_ what you choose to focus on?”

Crowley groans again and rolls onto his side. The pain is much worse now.

“Right, right, of course. Hold still, dear boy. I’ll sort you right out.”

Aziraphale places a hand on Crowley’s stomach and shuts his eyes. White light glows around the wound, and Crowley groans again.

“I’m nearly there. Hold on.”

“It hurts,” he moans. 

Donna takes the demon’s hand. “It’s gonna be ok, Crowley. We’ve got you.”

The pain suddenly becomes excruciating and it takes all his power not to scream out in agony. And just as suddenly as it started, it’s over.

“Ah. There it is.”

Aziraphale holds a tiny rock between his thumb and forefinger. No, not a rock. A shard, a splinter, of something else.

“What is that?” Donna asks, craning her neck to get a better look.

“I believe it’s a piece of a hellhound’s claw. Very nasty. How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Much better, angel, thanks to you.”

Crowley smiles. So does Aziraphale.

“If you two are _quite_ finished gazing to each other’s eyes.”

The demon scrambles to his feet, the angel supporting him as he rises.

“So, where’s the Doctor?” she asks.

“The Doctor? Doctor who?”

“Isn’t it whom?” Crowley asks.

The human mutters something like _Give me strength_ before answering the question.

“My friend, the Doctor. He got snatched around the same time you did. We thought he’d be here.”

“What does this Doctor-fellow look like?”

“How many people could have possibly been wandering about down here, angel?”

“It pays to be thorough,” Aziraphale replies patiently.

“He’s about Crowley’s height and just as skinny. Brown hair, big sideburns, very bad dress sense. Talks a mile a minute when he’s stressed.”

“Ah,” says Aziraphale, shifting uncomfortably, “yes.”

Donna’s eyes widen, “You saw him?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Aziraphale stamps his foot in embarrassment, “I thought he was Crowley! I thought he was Crowley in disguise and pretending not to know me. Oh no wonder he didn’t laugh at any of my jokes.”

Crowley huffs in annoyance, “He can’t look _that_ much like me, can he?”

Donna and Aziraphale look at each other and nod in sync. 

They never find out what Crowley’s witty retort would have been as a loud voice booms through the cavern.

“Crowley! I see you’ve freed your angel.”

“Hastur!” Crowley yells, spinning to see if he can find the demon, “You’ve got no business with Aziraphale, or this human. Let them go and face me like a ma – like a demon.”

Hastur’s disembodied voice chuckles, sending vibrations through the floor. Aziraphale catches Donna before she can lose her balance.

“You are quite right I have no quarrel with either of them. They may leave – but quickly before I change my mind.”

Crowley turns to face them.

“Time to go, you two.”

“But the Doctor – “

“I’ll find him, Donna, I swear. I’ll get him and get out.” He hands Donna his water pistol, and rests a comforting hand on her arm, “Take this – you’ll need it more than I will. Get Aziraphale to bless it on the way.”

“You want me to bless a _water pistol_?”

Donna and Crowley ignore the angel. She looks up at him. And there it is again, that look that strips back every defence – even his sunglasses.

“Bring him back to me. And if he’s hurt…”

“I’ll make Hastur pay, don’t worry.”

She smiles.

“Come on, Aziraphale. Let’s get out of here.”

She marches towards the tunnel they came through. Aziraphale pauses for a moment, as though he wants to say something to the demon.

“Go with her. Be safe – for me?”

The angel straightens his collar and nods.

“See you shortly.”

“Dinner?”

“That would be lovely, my dear.”

“Aziraphale!” Donna’s voice rings around them, “We haven’t got all day!”

Crowley accompanies him to the tunnel, steals a brief, chaste kiss from the angel’s lips and watches until he’s satisfied that his two friends are headed in the right direction – away from danger. He sends a prayer down the tunnel after them. Once they’ve vanished from sight he runs back into the main cavern.

He’s half expecting Hastur to be there, but to his surprise there is still no-one.

The hairs prickle on the back of his neck – one of the side effects of living in a human body for so long.

Something isn’t right. 

No time to dwell on it. He’s got to find the Doctor. Donna helped him find his angel. This is the _least_ he can do.

The picks a tunnel on the far side of the cavern and runs towards it. Before he can disappear into the dark a hand holding a plant mister rises from the gloom. Crowley chuckles. He recognises this. He has no doubt that the mister is full of holy water.

He takes a step back.

“Hastur. How unoriginal. I thought even you could have come up with your own, inventive way of killing me.”

“Maybe he would,” says the voice in the dark. A voice that definitely does _not_ belong to the demon. “But I’m not Hastur.”

The figure steps into the hellfire light of the cavern and Crowley finds himself staring at a reflection of his own face.

His own, _angry_ face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh... but at least the squad's all here.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked. If you fancy, come and yell at me on Tumblr - I'm theplatinthehat
> 
> @ all of you who leave comments - I love you very much! Writing this has been great fun anyway, but seeing how much people connect with it is such a honour.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy water, hellfire and Hastur - why do bad things always come in threes?

Fear is an unusual emotion. It can make a person (or a person-shaped being) do a whole host of interesting things as various chemicals get pumped around the body, the mind getting ready to fight or flee. The heart beats faster. Breathing rates accelerate. The adrenal gland works much harder than normal. The mind races at a thousand miles an hour, preparing to do what it must to keep its body safe from harm.

That’s what it’s all for. Keeping safe from harm. 

This definitely counted as a time to be fearful. In front of Crowley stood a very angry man (anger did _not_ look good on his face, he realised) holding a bottle of the stuff that could very well _wipe_ him out of existence entirely. 

He feels his heart, his lungs, his mind react to the fear.

And Crowley, in this time of immense fear, decides to whip his sunglasses off and say, “You know what? They were bang on. You _are_ a dead ringer for me.”

The Doctor, because that is the only person this man could be, shifts on his feet and looks perplexed. The statement has very clearly thrown him. Perhaps he expects a higher class of demon.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Or maybe it’s the sight of his demonic eyes.

“The number of people who’ve said that I look like you over the last few hours – quite frankly it’s been ridiculous. But know that you’re here in front of me… I can really see it. Is that what I’d look like with brown eyes?”

The Doctor tightens his finger round the trigger slightly, trying to regain control of the situation, “Look, just tell me where she is and I’ll leave you alone. I don’t want to use this, but I will if I have to.”

“Do you even know what it is?” Crowley asks, gesturing at the mister.

The insolence of Hastur. It’s even the same colour as the one he’d wrecked when he’d last been in the flat.

“Holy water. I’ve been assured it will hurt if I were to use it on you.”

Crowley shrugs, “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

“Look, just tell me where Donna is and I’ll be on my way.”

“Donna’s fine. She’s currently halfway back to the Bentley with an angel. She’s as safe as she can be under the circumstances.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m really not.”

“Hastur said that you’re holding her hostage. And that you’d have no qualms about killing her.”

Crowley pulls a face, “Killing her? Why would I do that?”

“Because you killed his best friend, without mercy.”

“Bloody cheek!” Crowley splutters, “What does Hastur think he knows about mercy?”

“Hey, hey!” the Doctor yells, “Just tell me where she is, and I’ll be on my way. If she’s unharmed you’ll have no bother from me.”

“Unharmed? She slapped _me!_ ”

The Doctor hesitates. There’s a flicker of recognition – clearly he’s been on the receiving end of at least one of Donna’s slaps.

“You could be lying.”

The demon splutters, “And why would I do that?”

“Because Hastur said that you’re a very good liar.”

“Urgh. ‘Hastur said this, Hastur said that?’ – are you listening to yourself? Mortals. Why is anyone listening to Hastur these days?” he complains, running a hand through his hair.

The Doctor lowers the mister, “Is that what I’d look like with red hair?”

Crowley widens his arms and bows a little, “I guess it is. What do you think?”

The Doctor nods, “I quite like it. I always wanted to be ginger.” He shakes his head and points the mister back up again. “Hastur said that you killed his best friend. How do I know you’ve not done the same to her already?”

The demon shrugs, “I can’t prove that to you. I _can_ tell you that she saved my life earlier today, and she’s the reason we’re here at all. I owe her a massive debt, and I plan to settle that by taking you to her, so if you wouldn’t mind putting that down, we can all leave this place with our respective friends and get out of each other’s lives forever.”

The Doctor looks unconvinced. That’s fair enough – it’s hardly Crowley’s most convincing argument.

“Look. There’s nothing I can do to prove to you that she’s safe. But,” Crowley pauses, “I can see that you don’t want to kill me.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that you’re a Timelord, you’ve got two hearts and an odd choice of friends.”

“You could have got that information anywhere,” he spits. “You could have _forced_ it from her.”

“She says you’ve travelled the universe. I was there when it was new.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply.

“Come on. Let’s talk, one non-human to another. It’s been one hell of a long day and we’ve both seen far too much.”

“I’m 900 years old,” the Doctor hisses through gritted teeth, “you don’t know what I’ve seen.”

“I’ve been on Earth for 6,000,” the demon spits back, “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

The Doctor steps back, startled. He’s clearly not used to meeting people older than him.

“I’ve walked every step of the way with humanity. I’m the one that whispers, _’Go on, it can’t hurting knowing that can it?’_ I’ve seen so much evil, and been responsible for more than my fair share. I’ve seen millennia upon millennia of misery and murder.” Crowley takes a step forward, getting right up into the Doctor’s face, “I’ve seen the faces of killers. I’ve seen those who would happily pick up the knife again and again. And I’ve seen those who have had enough, those that don’t want to kill anymore – I’ve seen faces like _yours_ ”

The alien is silent.

“You don’t want to kill anymore.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.” 

“And that’s up to you. Just one more body to add to the count of those who you were almost certain were guilty. But it’s that _almost_ that eats away at a man. Can your conscience bear another?”

The Doctor sighs, “No, it couldn’t.” His tone abruptly brightens, and he steps around the demon, “Which is why I switched the holy water Hastur gave me for the regular stuff. Not really my style, total disintegration.”

Crowley cocks his head with an unamused expression, “You mean you’ve been holding me up with normal water this whole time?”

“Yep,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ with an amused grin, “want some?”

“No. You were never planning to kill me?”

“Naaaah.”

“Where did you get the water from?”

“I converted it,” the Doctor replies, shaking the mister.

“Converted it? To what, Buddhism?”

“No. It was buzzing with Huon particles. My race, the Timelords, we’re pretty good with the stuff – thought we’d gotten rid of all of it…”

“Huon particles,” Crowley mutters thoughtfully.

“Yeah. They’re like – “

“I know what they are. There when the universe was new, remember?”

There’s a shriek and they spin around to see Donna and Aziraphale sprint back into the room.

“He lied to us! There’s hellfire _everywhere_. There’s no way through.”

“But, the holy water - ?” Crowley starts to ask.

“Oh yes, _the holy water_. Well, apparently _someone_ can’t bless water under pressure.”

“You can’t bless when stressed,” Aziraphale beams.

“Don’t say it like it’s a good thing!”

The Doctor steps out from behind Crowley’s back. “Hi. I’m fine in case anyone was wondering,” he says with a grin and a wiggle of his fingers.

“Doctor!” Donna cries, shoving past the demon and launching herself into the alien’s arms. With a laugh he sweeps her up into a massive hug.

“What happened to you? One minute I was getting Starbucks, and the next minute you were gone!”

“Yeah… stuff happened. Ooo!”

The Doctor trails off as something goes _ding!_ in his pocket. He releases Donna and pats down his coat until he retrieves a small device covered in blinking lights and spinning things. His eyebrows shoot up as he examines the device in delight.

“Ooo. That _is_ interesting.”

He holds the device out at arm’s length and rotates it in a wide arc. It dings louder as it sweeps past Aziraphale.

“What is that?” Donna asks.

“It’s a huon particle detector. It goes ding when there’s huons.” The Doctor sweeps the detector past the angel again and it goes _ding!_ as promised. He puts his glasses on and reaches for another device – slim, tubular with a blue light that emits an annoying buzz. He waves it around Aziraphale like a wand.

“Are you aware that you’re buzzing with huon energy?”

Aziraphale stamps his foot impatiently, “Of course I am! I’m an angel. Now are we going to get out of here or not?”

“You’re an angel?”

“Yes!”

The Doctor turns to face Crowley, buzzing him with the slim device. Crowley lets him with an amused smile.

“You won’t find any huons here – I’m a demon.”

“But? But?”

Donna smacks the Doctor’s arm, “Aziraphale’s right – we need to get out of here. You can sonic them to your heart’s content when we’re back on the surface.”

“Yes,” the alien stutters, “yes, of course. Lead the way. Allons-y!”

Crowley looks at Donna with a bemused expression, “Is he always like this?”

The human sighs, “Yes. Yes, he is. Now if we’re done asking questions let’s _go!_ ”

And with that she grabs the Doctor’s hand and starts to drag him across the cavern. Crowley follows suit, pulling Aziraphale along behind him.

Hastur blocks their exit.

The four of them stumble to a halt. The demon looks disappointed; not in an overly negative way – more _this didn’t work out the way I intended but I can have fun with the result regardless _kind of way.__

__“Well. This is a surprise. Three of you are supposed to be dead already.”_ _

__“What a shame, Hastur,” Crowley goads, “Can’t even commit murder properly. Call yourself a demon?”_ _

__“Just can’t get the staff these days,” Donna chips in, shaking her head._ _

__“No matter. I will just have to deal with you all personally.”_ _

__“Oh, you always _loved_ the personal touch,” Crowley snarls._ _

__“Look,” the Doctor begs, stepping forward, “Donna’s got nothing to do with any of this. Just, let her go – please.”_ _

__“I can’t just _leave_ you all here!”_ _

__“Sure you can,” Crowley replies._ _

__Donna slaps his shoulder._ _

__“I will not allow it,” Hastur states, “she _is_ involved – she is here.”_ _

__“Oi! You kidnapped my friend! Of course, I came!”_ _

__Hastur shakes his head in disgust, as if Donna were beneath him. She is beneath him – she’s a human._ _

__The Doctor changes tactic._ _

__“I know you lost your friend, and I know you’re hurting.” He’s trying to appeal to the demon’s good side. “Hurting enough to try to convince me to hurt Crowley instead. But this isn’t the way forward. Killing Crowley, killing _us_ won’t bring your friend back. In the end, it will just be four more deaths.”_ _

__Too bad Hastur doesn’t have a good side._ _

__The demon switches to Dæmonic Enochian, the language of the bowels of Hell, fed up of being interrupted by people who just _don’t_ understand his gloriously infernal purpose. He turns to address his fellow demon._ _

__**“So this is it, Crowley. This is where you shuffle off your mortal coil.”** _ _

__**“You’ve already tried to kill me several times today, Hastur. You even tried to manipulate someone else into doing your dirty work. You haven’t managed it. What makes you think you’ll be successful?”** _ _

__**“Because I’m here to see to the job myself. You won’t be slithering away this time.”** _ _

__**“Come on, Hastur. What’s the point? Look, I’m sorry what happened to Ligur. Honestly, hand on my heart, holy water’s a rough way to go. But you put me in a tight spot – what’s a demon supposed to do?”** _ _

__**“You _destroyed_ him!”** Hastur shrieks, “ **You destroyed my best friend and you will _pay_ for it!” **_ _

__**“But why? Killing him isn’t going to help anyone!”** _ _

__The two demons stare slack-jawed at Donna. As if this day couldn’t get _any_ weirder._ _

__**“What?”** she demands._ _

__Crowley makes a series of surprised noises before managing to ask, **“You – you speak Dæmonic Enochian?”**_ _

__Donna’s brow furrows in confusion and turns to the Doctor. He breathes through his teeth and rubs the back of his head, **“TARDIS translation matrix. It’s a tricky one – translates everything, but sometimes that can land you in hot water.”**_ _

__**“You mean I’m speaking like a demon?”** _ _

__**“Yep. That’s pretty cool, right?”** _ _

__**“Yeah, that is pretty cool.”** Crowley admits, **“I didn’t even know a human voicebox could _do_ that.” **_ _

__“Can we _please_ switch back to English!” Aziraphale wails, “my Enochian is really rusty, and I never got the hang of the Downstairs dialect!”_ _

___**“SILENCE!”** _ Hastur roars, the meaning clear even in a demonic tongue._ _

__His voice takes on a life of its own and ricochets around the cavern, getting louder and louder and _louder_ until the four of them have to cover their ears. Everything shakes. Hearts pound against ribcages. _ _

__The sound dies away. Crowley’s ears ring._ _

__“It does not matter to me what you think. I am a demon – there is no punishment worse than that. I will kill Crowley for this crime. Ligur shall be avenged.”_ _

__Aziraphale tenses next to Crowley, and the demon knows that if he still had that flaming sword the angel would not hesitate to use it. Crowley just shrugs as if to say _Fair enough_._ _

__“I will kill Aziraphale, for he is an angel and that is what I must do – it should have been done a long time ago.”_ _

__“No hard feelings I suppose,” Aziraphale admits. He links an arm through Crowley’s. It’s a touch that says _I might be afraid of dying today, but at least I won’t have to face life without you.__ _

__“Thank you for not killing me all these years, my dear boy.”_ _

__“I could never hurt you, angel.”_ _

__Hastur turns to the Doctor and Donna, “And I _will_ kill you two. Don’t think you’ve escaped our notice down here. You do _far_ too much good in the world. Your… untimely demise will earn me a commendation for sure.”_ _

__“How about that, Donna?” he asks gleefully, throwing an arm around her shoulder “We’re being killed because we’re too nice!”_ _

__“Oh, that makes me feel _soooo_ much better.”_ _

__Hastur raises his hands and the foundations begin to tremble. Crowley glances over to the others. The Doctor’s eyes are wild, darting around the cavern looking for something, _anything_ that could get them out of this situation. His expression grows panicked as he realises that there’s nothing. A man whose luck has finally run out._ _

__This is it._ _

__“Make peace with your gods. You’re mine now.”_ _

__Crowley reaches for Aziraphale’s hand. He doesn’t need peace. He just needs his angel._ _

__The earthquake gets stronger. Rocks start to tumble from the walls and the ceiling. Fissures open in the ground, and vents of steam rises with a startling _hiss!__ _

__Something snaps._ _

__Patience is a virtue, or so the saying goes. It’s one of those qualities that keeps someone who has to put up with such extreme nonsense on a day-to-day basis from doing something downright absurd. Donna is a patient woman. She hasn’t always been – her mum might say she still isn’t. But waiting for the Doctor made her that way. And hanging out with the Doctor has exposed her to more nonsense than she can hope to deal with in her lifetime._ _

__Yes, Donna is patient._ _

__But today, her patience has run out._ _

__“Oi! Hastur!”_ _

__The demon regards her with a quizzical expression._ _

__“Look. It’s been a long day. I’m very fed up and I didn’t get to enjoy my frappuccino. I’ve sat in an outrageous amount of traffic and I’ve heard too many Queen songs on a loop.”_ _

__Hastur laughs, “This pathetic ruse to gain my mercy will not work. I’m a demon – I’m far beyond mercy.”_ _

__Donna chuckles, “Oh no, I can see that. No. This is an explanation.”_ _

__“An explanation for what?”_ _

__“This!”_ _

__She launches an object at Hastur’s head – the tartan flask, Crowley recognises as it sails past him in a furious arc. The demon calculates its trajectory too late, and before he can duck out of the way the rim smacks him dead between the eyes. He falls, without a cry or a shriek; not even a whimper._ _

__Donna 1: Hastur 0._ _

__The shaking stops._ _

__“Well,” the Doctor muses, “I suppose that’s one way of dealing with him.”_ _

__Donna rushes over and crouches next to the fallen demon._ _

__“Is he dead?” Aziraphale asks, craning his neck to get a look._ _

__The Doctor crouches down with Donna and buzzes Hastur with the device._ _

__“He’s fine. Gonna wake up with a raging headache though.”_ _

__“Pity,” says Crowley._ _

__Aziraphale tuts._ _

__“Where did you learn to throw like that?” the Doctor asks Donna._ _

__“She was on the rounders team,” Crowley answers for her, “and I guess you were a better pitcher than batswoman.”_ _

__Donna smiles, “How did you guess?”_ _

__The ground lurches beneath them. The Doctor grabs Donna before she can fall over, and Crowley puts a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder to steady himself._ _

__“What the hell was that?” the angel asks._ _

__The device starts buzzing again._ _

__“What _is_ that?” Crowley asks, “And why does it make that infernal noise?”_ _

__“It’s a sonic screwdriver, and it’s… sonic. Oh.”_ _

__He looks down at the device with wide eyes._ _

__“That doesn’t sound like an encouraging ‘Oh’,” Donna says, peering over the Doctor’s shoulder._ _

__“Yeeaaaah,” he replies, drawing out the word as he tries to decipher his readings._ _

__“What is it?”_ _

__“Well. The foundations of the ground we’re standing on have become massively unstable. The floor’s about to fall through.”_ _

__“ _What?_ ” Crowley hisses._ _

__“Basically – run!”_ _

__And run they do. Almost as soon as they’ve left the cavern the ground is swallowed up into a dark hole that must go all the way to Tartarus. There’s a roar – the roar of rocks finally finding freedom. The shaking resumes, making each step a gamble._ _

__A foot placed badly, a sprained ankle? Game over._ _

__They keep running._ _

__The tunnels don’t look familiar. There are new boulders and the topography seems to have completely changed. Hastur must have been _furious_ to exert this much force over the… _ _

__“Wait!” Donna shrieks, throwing her weight against Crowley and he stumbles backwards._ _

__“What was that for?” he shouts, rubbing his chest._ _

__“The holy water!” she yells back over the din, “It’s still here from the hellhound!”_ _

__Crowley had totally forgotten. A single drop would have killed him._ _

__Aziraphale waves his hand, miracling the stuff away, “Keep going!”_ _

__They round a corner and right into._ _

__“Hellfire!” Crowley shouts, shielding Aziraphale as the flames leap forward at them._ _

__The Doctor and Donna hold out their hands to block the harsh light from their eyes._ _

__“What do we do? We can’t run through there!” Donna asks, pulling the Doctor away from the spitting tongues._ _

__“Hang on, I’ve got this.”_ _

__Crowley closes his eyes and imagines, no _feels_ the flames parting before them – a safe passage for the other three._ _

__“How are you doing that?” Aziraphale breathes._ _

__“I can’t hold this for long – run!”_ _

__He stretches his hands, his powers, and prays that it’s enough for them to get through without harm._ _

__“You first, Donna.”_ _

__She runs, followed by Aziraphale. Crowley sways on his feet slightly. Black blurs the edge of his vision._ _

__“Woah there, Crowley. You alright?” the Doctor asks, putting a hand on the demon’s shoulder._ _

__“I’m burning up the dregs of my miracle energy to do this. You need to go – now.”_ _

__“I can’t just leave you here.”_ _

__“You have to. Don’t worry – I’ve got another way out. I’ll follow you I promise.”_ _

__The Doctor flashes him a grim look, but takes him at his word._ _

__“Just – do me a favour and get Aziraphale to give me a shout when you’re through, alright?”_ _

__The alien nods and dashes through the flames. They part before him like the waters of the Red Sea did for Moses all those years ago. He grimaces. He can feel the miracle start to weaken._ _

___No!_ _ _

__He must hold on. Hold on until…_ _

___“He’s through, Crowley,”_ Aziraphale’s voice drifts into his thoughts, a crystal clear stream in the forest of his mind, _“you can let go now.”__ _

__With a gasp, he lets go and sinks to his knees. The flames fall back together, burning hotter than ever. He can feel Aziraphale’s presence in his head swirl in alarm._ _

__He just needs to close his eyes for a moment._ _

__“Crowley!” a voice cries through the wildfire, jarring him back to reality._ _

__It’s Donna._ _

__“Come on, Crowley, you stupid demon! Get up and walk. We still need you – get a move on!”_ _

__The demon smiles. Trust Donna to say it like it is._ _

__He gets up and he walks._ _

__The flames don’t hurt, they never do. It’s more of a pleasant prickle, like the hot droplets of a shower against bare skin. Cleansing._ _

__One foot in front of the other, he walks through the fire and out the other side. As soon as he’s left the flames there are two pairs of arms around him; Aziraphale and Donna. He hugs them both._ _

__“You had me worried there for a moment, dear boy,” Aziraphale murmurs into his ear._ _

__Crowley lets his head rest against the angel’s forehead, and runs a finger through the white curls of his hair._ _

__The Doctor watches on, smiling._ _

__Crowley breaks the embrace._ _

__“Well,” he coughs, “I thought we were in a hurry?”_ _

__There’s a horrific sound of rock scraping against rock and the floor lurches again. They turn to see boulders filling the void behind them._ _

__“I think we’re in even more of a hurry now,” the Doctor quips, “Come on – this way I presume?”_ _

__Crowley leads the way, guiding them through the labyrinth back to the Bentley._ _

__“Is it just me or is this a lot narrower now?” Donna asks._ _

__The demon looks and curses. She’s right. The tunnel had been big enough for them to turn around on the way. There was no way they can do that now._ _

__“Oh no!” the Doctor cries._ _

__Donna looks at him, alarmed, “What is it?”_ _

__“My TARDIS! I’ve been meaning to look for her! I haven’t seen her at all.”_ _

__“The TARDIS is…”_ _

__“Back there,” the Doctor mourns, staring down the tunnel._ _

__“Well we can’t go back now!”_ _

__He doesn’t hear her, and just stands there. Aziraphale climbs into the passenger’s seat. Crowley opens the driver’s door, but doesn’t get in._ _

__Donna approaches the Timelord and takes his hand._ _

__“Hey. The TARDIS will be alright. She’s survived worse than this – you’ve told me.”_ _

__“Yes but – "_ _

__“But what? You’re telling me that the shields can’t handle a couple of rocks? This is the _TARDIS_ we’re talking about.”_ _

__The Doctor smiles, “You’re right. I just… feel bad.”_ _

__“I’m sure you’ll be forgiven. Now, let’s get in the Bentley and get out of here.”_ _

__“Yes, let’s.”_ _

__Crowley swings into his seat and starts the engine as they climb into the back._ _

__“I’d advise you put your seatbelts on.”_ _

__“Why?” Aziraphale asks, dutifully doing as he’s told – not pointing out that yesterday the Bentley didn’t even _have_ seatbelts._ _

__Crowley pulls the gear stick into reverse, and revs the engine._ _

__“Because we’re about to go backwards very fast.”_ _

__He stamps his foot on the accelerator, and not a moment too soon as the ceiling promptly collapses in on itself. The three passengers all grab hold of anything that they can find to steady themselves the best they can. Donna and the Doctor are laughing with delight in the back, enjoying the thrill of the latest in a long line of daring escapes._ _

__Aziraphale was not quite as excited._ _

__“You can’t do ninety miles per hour in reverse, Crowley!”_ _

__“Why not?”_ _

__“Hey, Crowley!” the Doctor yells, looking out the back window, “it’s getting a bit wider back here – you might be able to turn around.”_ _

__Glancing in the rear-view mirror the demon sees that the alien is correct. With some driving trickery and healthy amount of belief, the car swings around in one smooth motion._ _

__And stalls._ _

__“Urgh, damn it!” Crowley growls, smacking his hands against the steering wheel._ _

__The radio blares into life with the _stomp, stomp, clap!_ of _We Will Rock You_._ _

__He curses and twists the key. The engine stubbornly stays stalled, the chattering of the gears sounding rather like a demonic laugh._ _

__“Uh, Crowley,” Aziraphale warns, watching the approaching rockfall in the wing mirror._ _

__“Hang on, just give me – "_ _

__“It’s coming!”_ _

__“We haven’t got time,” the Doctor babbles, retrieving his sonic screwdriver and waving it in the general direction of the engine. It whirrs back into life and Crowley puts the car into gear._ _

__“Drive!” Donna yells._ _

__He doesn’t need telling twice. The Doctor whoops in delight as they’re pushed back against the seats with the breath-taking _speed_. The needle of the speedometer creeps up – a hundred, ten, twenty. By some infernal miracle the rockfall matches their pace. _ _

___Faster,_ Crowley wills the car, and still they’re pursued._ _

__“What kind of infernal miracle did he _use?_ ” he growls to himself._ _

__The rock begins to crack open ahead of them. Crowley holds his breath, thinking that they’re done for, before realising that they’re approaching the end of the tunnel system. They’re almost clear now. Yes! There it is – the orange light of the under-earth sky._ _

__“We’re nearly there!”_ _

__They emerge from the tunnels and re-join the road system._ _

__“You’re going too fast, Crowley!” Donna shouts, “That traffic! It was at a standstill when we left.”_ _

__The demon curses. She’s right, and he’s got no miracle energy left to get them out of the way._ _

__Aziraphale puts a hand on his arm, “I can do it. Go. But if you could put on the brakes a little?”_ _

__“I wouldn’t if I were you,” the Doctor says, still looking out the back window._ _

__Crowley takes a look and watches as huge cracks open up in the tarmac. He turns to his angel._ _

__“I have faith in you, Aziraphale. You can do this.”_ _

__The angel nods. Crowley yanks the steering wheel, swerving the Bentley back onto the M25._ _

__And the road falls away behind them._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who are you? I'm you but ginger.
> 
> Next chapter is the last chapter - I don't believe it! I'd apologise for leaving you on a cliffhanger at the end of chapter 5, but it appears that I've done it again... oopsie doopsie
> 
> Also I like the fact that I've essentially equated huons with holiness. Does that mean Lance was giving Donna holy coffee?
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked. If you fancy, come and yell at me on Tumblr - I'm theplatinthehat
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, left kudos or commented. It's been a thrill to have so many people engage with this story. I love you all very much!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alas, all good things must come to an end (but at least there's chips)

They bounce back onto the tarmac.

“Keep driving!” Donna yells, grabbing hold of the driver’s seat.

“Oh thanks, Donna. I was planning to stop – lovely day to admire the view.”

“Oi, don’t get clever with me!”

“Crowley, look out!” the Doctor shouts as a car swerves in front of them.

It’s chaos. Thankfully the traffic jam has moved along, but there are still plenty of vehicles on the motorway and they’re all in a mad panic to get away from the greedy sinkhole. Cars screech past at top speed, weaving in and out of each other to get to the front of the pack. Aziraphale has his eyes closed, lips moving in a silent prayer. Crowley glances in the mirror to see various cars having miraculous escapes.

“Good work, angel.”

Aziraphale’s mouth ticks upward with a brief smile, but his concentration is elsewhere.

“It’s stopping,” the Doctor says, “you can pull over now.”

“Pull over?”

“We’ve got to help.”

Crowley’s tempted to ignore him and keep driving, but he catches Donna’s eyes in the mirror. He slams on the brakes and they skid to a halt. As soon as they’ve stopped, the Doctor and Donna shoot out the car and run back down the motorway. Aziraphale rubs his temples.

“You alright, angel?”

He nods, “Better follow them. Wouldn’t want your new friend to get into any more trouble, would we?”

Crowley can’t help but agree. 

Donna is directing survivors away from the sinkhole, waving around ID that looks suspiciously like it belongs to the Health and Safety Department. The Doctor is stood at the edge of the road, waving his sonic screwdriver. On the far side is a line of cars, all honking their horns in annoyance at the delay to their journey.

“Is everyone alright?” Aziraphale asks, rushing over.

Donna smiles, “It seems that everyone had a _miraculous_ escape.”

The angel smiles at the good news.

“What’s he up to?” Crowley asks, pointing to the alien.

“Something about structural integrity. Hey, is this going to be a problem?”

“Is what going to be a problem?”

“Well, there’s a sinkhole to Hell that’s opened up in the middle of the M25. Someone’s going to notice that, right?”

Crowley walks over to the edge of the sinkhole, and sniffs.

“Can’t smell anything demonic. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a break in the seal. Suppose I ought to give Dagon a call and they’ll send – “

There’s a roll of thunder, and a violet bolt of lightning strikes the motorway. Almost simultaneously a molten hole opens in the tarmac, and a shadowy figure rises up from beneath the earth.

“Great,” Crowley mutters to himself, “The Chuckle Brothers.”

“Don’t be rude, Crowley,” Aziraphale ticks him off. “They’re just doing their jobs.”

“Laughably. And don’t pretend you don’t think the same as I do.”

“I don’t – just not to their faces.”

The two figures greet each other with a curt nod before falling in step and making their way to the edge of the sinkhole.

“Oh heavens, I don’t think I’m ready to face them again after what they did.”

“Don’t worry, angel – I reckon they’re still pretty terrified of us.”

“Who are they?” Donna asks with a whisper, watching them approach with interest.

“Gabriel’s on the left, an archangel of the Lord,” Aziraphale explains quietly as Crowley goes to fetch the Doctor, “and on the right is Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies and Prince of Hell.”

Donna smirks, “I suppose that explains the charming headpiece.”

“I suppose it does.”

Gabriel and Beelzebub make their final approach.

“Crowley. Aziraphale. It is a displeasure to see the pair of you again,” Gabriel greets in his usual manner.

Crowley, at the mention of his name, swaggers back over with his hands in his pockets. “The feeling’s mutual,” he sniffs, “What’s up, Beel? Got the plumbing sorted yet?”

Beelzebub bites their lip and turns to Gabriel, “You can szzzmite him if you like. I wouldn’t mind.”

Gabriel looks down at the demon with amusement, “As much as I would love to you know the rules.”

“Ah yeszzz. The ruleszzz.”

“Is there something we can help you with?” Aziraphale asks, hoping that they’ll say no and leave.

“Hell is open,” Gabriel states, as if they hadn’t noticed, “and as our respective sides chosen representatives, we’ve come to make sure there isn’t any damage.”

“ _Major_ damage,” Beelzebub corrects, “It iszzn’t a great diszzaszzter if a couple of szoulszzz were loszzzt along the way.”

Donna looks like she’s about to burst into an angry rant, but Crowley puts a hand on her shoulder. He and Aziraphale might be off limits, but he has no doubt that either of them would do harm to a mortal given half the chance.

Too bad he didn’t see the Doctor coming.

“Not a great disaster?” he exclaims, “The only reason that no-one _died_ was because of Aziraphale’s quick thinking.”

Aziraphale grimaces as Gabriel shoots him a disbelieving look. The Doctor continues regardless.

“And I think a sinkhole in the M25 constitutes as _major_ damage!”

Beelzebub looks up at Gabriel, “Who iszzz thizsss? Iszzz he one of yourszzz? He talkszz like it.”

Gabriel shakes his head, “No… he’s not. Tell me, mortal, what is your name?”

“I’m the Doctor and I – “

Gabriel smacks his lips, cutting the Doctor off before he can launch into an extended monologue, “The name isn’t familiar. The Doctor, you say? No, I don’t recall the name.”

“I do,” Beelzebub snarls, “He’szzz not of thiszzz Earth. He getszzz… involved with the humanszzz and their affairszzz.”

Gabriel regards the Timelord with suspicion, “So he’s out of our jurisdiction?”

“Our’szzz too.”

The archangel turns to Donna, “And what of this one?”

“Uncertain.”

“Oi! I’m standing right here!”

Beelzebub ignores her.

“How did thiszzz happen?” the Lord of the Flies demands.

“Hastur,” Crowley spits, “on _leave_.”

There’s a flash of something like embarrassment across their face, “I szzzee.”

“What’s this?” Gabriel asks.

“One of our’szzz haszzz gone rouge… He kidnapped thiszzz angel and that mortal,” pointing at the Doctor.

“He planned to kill us,” the Doctor points out.

Gabriel frowns “I can’t just let that one slip, Beelzebub. The rules are _quite_ clear.”

“Do not quote the ruleszzz at me, archangel” they snap back, “I am _well_ aware. Thiszzz will be dealt with. Where iszzz Haszzztur?”

There is a chorus of uncertain noises from the four adventurers, and Crowley points down the sinkhole with an amused shrug. Beelzebub just groans.

“He will be dealt with when he iszzz found.”

Gabriel smiles. Crowley and Aziraphale are taken aback. It’s a _genuine_ smile.

“Well this sounds like an internal affair. I trust… expect… whatever, you’ll deal with it however you choose,” he claps his hands, “and I’ll get out of your way. Beelzebub. You two.”

Crowley and Aziraphale wave sarcastically as the archangel turns away.

“I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, but it really hasn’t. Farewell.”

“Wait!” Donna yells.

The archangel freezes. Everyone freezes.

“You can’t just _go_. Who’s going to sort out this mess?” she asks, gesturing to the sinkhole.

The two representatives look at one another.

“Your demon, your mess.”

“I waszzz going to szzzay that’szzz on uszzz aszzz _all_ roadworkszzz are on uszzz.”

Donna tuts. Of course, they are.

“And what about my TARDIS?” the Doctor asks.

“Your what?” Beelzebub frowns.

“My ship. Big, blue box – you can’t miss it.”

“What about it?”

“It’s down there.”

“And you want uszzz to get it back for you?”

“Yeah?”

“I think that’s probably fair, Beelzebub. One of your lot did kidnap him after all,” Gabriel points out, “you could call it compensation.”

“Fine,” the demon snarls, turning to the Doctor. “Your ship will be located as returned to you aszzz szzzoon aszzz poszzzible.”

“How long?”

“At leaszzzt three to five working dayszzz.”

The Doctor looks horrified. Beelzebub laughs. At least, Crowley _thinks_ it’s a laugh. It could be a death rattle.

“We will find it,” they turn to Gabriel, “you can tell your szzzuperiorszzz that Hell will be reszzzealed by the end of the day. The szzzinkhole may take a little longer.”

“Don’t care about the sinkhole, Beelzebub. Just Hell.”

And with that, he disappears in another bolt of violet lightning. Beelzebub straightens out their jacket and muttering “Good riddance,” before disappearing into molten hole and slipping back into the bowels of Hell.

Crowley makes an obscene gesture at the air where the two supernatural entities had been. Aziraphale shakes his head. The Doctor turns back to the sinkhole and Donna goes over to him. She leans her head on his shoulder, and rubs his arm.

“The TARDIS will be ok. I’m sure we’ll be on our way soon.”

The Doctor runs a hand through his hair, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Donna turns to Crowley and Aziraphale, “What now?”

Aziraphale shrugs, whilst Crowley turns to look down the motorway. Blue lights and sirens are approaching at high speed.

“Well, I want to avoid _that_. Let’s say we get out of here?”

“Where too?”

“Chips!” the Doctor exclaims, “Haven’t had chips in ages. I fancy some chips. What about you, Donna?”

“Always up for chips. Know anywhere?”

Aziraphale smiles.

“Yes, I believe I do.”

The four of them pile back into the Bentley and leave the scene before any awkward questions can be asked. It’s been a long day, and if there’s one sure-fire way to make it worse, it’s dealing with the mortal police.

That being said, it might just be worth it to watch Aziraphale blow up one of their notebooks.

“Allons-y!”

An angel, a demon, an alien and a human walk into a chip shop. This feels like the opening to some cosmic joke, doesn’t it? Somewhere, far away, an omnipotent being is giggling. The four of them are laughing, trading jokes of impossible things that none of them have any business remembering. If the staff are perturbed by this, they do not show it. This is Soho, after all. 

Stranger things have happened on a Thursday night.

The chip shop is a little place near the bookshop that Crowley must have walked past thousands of times, but never set foot in. The floor is sticky, but the tables are clean and he assumes that the chips must taste _incredible_.

They do.

The four adventurers order, sit and eat, sharing stories of significant historical events. Crowley and Aziraphale are delighted to have an outside perspective, and pick the Doctor’s brain on various things that have happened throughout human history. Donna joins in where she can, and has them all laughing with her re-telling of what happened in a temple in Pompeii.

“So, I’m tied to this altar, about to be sacrificed, and _he_ rocks up with this little water pistol. And I’m there thinking ‘Great! This is how I die.’ – but no, he squirts the priestess right in the face and she starts _screaming_. And while they’re all distracted, we hop through a grating and run right into the heart of the volcano!”

“My goodness,” Aziraphale exclaims, “running into the heart of an active volcano seems reckless at best.”

“Well… it wasn’t _really_ active at the time,” the Doctor confesses, with a sheepish scratch of his neck.

Crowley and Aziraphale share a quizzical look.

“It was either Pompeii or the Earth. It was a bad choice.”

“It was the _only_ choice,” Donna reminds him gently. “And we did save Caecilius and his family.”

“Told you Vesuvius wasn’t one of ours,” Crowley teases Aziraphale, stealing one of his chips.

“Yes, well you didn’t believe me when I said that Agatha Christie’s disappearance had _nothing_ to do with me.”

“Still don’t.”

“You should,” the Doctor mutters, suddenly very interested in his food.

“No,” Aziraphale gapes. “You kidnapped Agatha Christie?”

“Not really,” Donna replies. “There was a murderous wasp on the rampage. A big one. We did her a favour really.”

A bottle of wine appears at the table. Crowley doesn’t know if it manifested itself, or whether one of them dashed to the bookshop to get it. It doesn’t matter either way. He, Aziraphale and Donna all have glass – the Doctor declines after taking one sip, pulling a face that would have sunk a thousand ships.

The conversation meanders through time and space. Crowley drinks up the talk of the universe, making mental notes of the places he helped create, all those millennia ago, that shine bright with life today. Eventually, the topic of talk weaves its way back to the present day and the present planet. The Doctor explains how he was ambushed in the alley and woke up in a cell with nothing but his clothes and a raging headache for his trouble. The demon had come in to wax lyrical about his grand victory over ‘Crowley’ and the Doctor had done his best to tell him that he _wasn’t_ the immortal being he was looking for.

“He was pretty furious. He threatened to hose me down with holy water if I didn’t admit that what I’d done to Ligur was wrong. He actually _did_ hose me down with it, and proceeded to get very angry when I didn’t die. That’s when he disappeared and came back with Aziraphale.”

This signals the angel’s turn to pick up the tale; how Hastur had come to the bookshop and told him that he had Crowley and if Aziraphale didn’t come along quietly he’d make the demon pay for it.  
“I went along quite willingly. He was telling the truth – or so he thought. When I got down there, I really did believe that the Doctor was you.”

“You tried telling me jokes to cheer me up,” the Doctor grins. “It was a nice thought, but I think they were anecdotes that you had to be there for.”

“Yes, I think they probably were.”

Crowley squeezes Aziraphale’s hand under the table. Donna spies the movement and gives the pair of them a warm smile.

The Doctor continues the story. Hastur disappeared _again_ but this time came back covered in rubble and stinking of smoke (Donna and Crowley share a laugh, remembering _exactly_ how that happened). 

“By that point he’d cottoned on to the fact that he’d got the wrong person. So that’s when he told me that Crowley had Donna and if I wanted any chance of seeing her alive again, I needed to do exactly what he said.”

“And he gave you the holy water?”

“Yes. That was when the detector went off and I realised what it was.”

“Which you promptly converted; I presume?” Crowley asks.

“Absolutely. Huons are dangerous.”

“Hardly,” Aziraphale scoffs. “I should know!”

“Yeah. I still don’t understand why the detector didn’t go off in your presence sooner,” the Doctor muses, retrieving the device. “It must be on the blink. It did get soaked though, that could explain it.”

He blows on the device, which lights up and beeps with annoyance.

“No,” says Donna, shaking her head. “Crowley said that place binds an angel’s power – makes their being weaker. Would it reduce the effect of huons?”

“Definitely,” Crowley confirms, “it’s the best way to stop an angel.”

“And you can do that with _symbols_?” she asks.

“The universe is a very big place, Donna. I’ve seen species use words to reshape reality. Symbols of power are hardly uncommon.”

Before the Doctor can launch into a long spiel about the complexities of the universe, someone new enters the chip shop, walking as if they haven’t _quite_ gotten used to the concept of having legs yet. Crowley feels their infernal energy crackle up his spine. It’s a demon – a junior one, but still a demon. They notice the four of them and stand at their table.

“I have a message for the one called The Doctor.”

“That’s me,” the alien greets with a wave, “hello!”

“I have been instructed to tell you that your TARDIS has been retrieved and returned to its previous location.”

The Doctor beams, “Brilliant! Thank you very much.”

With the message delivered, the demon turns to leave.

“What about Hastur?” Donna asks.

Crowley bites back a _Who cares_ \- because Donna does care. A lot.

“His body was discorporated in the rockfall, but his spirit has been retrieved and is awaiting trial for his actions.”

“Trial? What will happen to him?”

“Execution by holy water.”

Donna is shocked, “That doesn’t seem fair. He was – “

“Donna, downstairs don’t care about fair,” Crowley snaps, “they just deal with things on a whim.”

“But we can’t just _leave_ him to that – Doctor, tell them!”

“You have a point,” the Doctor admits, turning to the demon, “can we put in a good word for him?”

The newcomer laughs mirthlessly, “I’m not sure a _good_ word would help Hastur very much.”

“Can’t you say anything?” Donna asks.

Crowley turns to the demon, “Look. I don’t think this will make a jot of difference, but tell Beel and that lot that holy water is a bit extreme for this type of behaviour. Yes, he was breaking the rules but it was _very_ demonic. He could spend some time in the Pit until he’s learnt his lesson instead.”

The demon snarls, baring their rotting black teeth, “You think the word of a traitor will do him any favours?”

“Probably not. But it will get Donna off my back,” he replies, taking a swig of wine straight from the bottle. 

The demon snarls again, “Very well, I will pass on your message.”

And with that, they burst into a cloud of maggots which fall to the table and the floor with little wet squelches. They writhe around until they are swallowed up by tiny holes, leaving no trace that the demon had ever been there at all.

The four of them stare at the space that the demon had been standing. 

“That’s put me off my chips,” Donna says glumly.

Aziraphale both wrinkles his nose in agreement. 

“Not to worry,” the Doctor replies, jumping up and swiping Donna’s food, “we’ve got the TARDIS back. Shall we?”

He skips out the door, Donna in hot pursuit of her dinner.

“Bring those back!”

“You did say you didn’t want them, my dear.”

“Don’t get clever with me, Aziraphale!”

The streets of London are never silent, but by some miracle they are very quiet tonight. Aziraphale joins the Doctor in an animated discussion of what _really_ happened to the script of _Love’s Labour’s Won_. Donna falls in step with Crowley.

“We did good today.”

“I’m a demon. I don’t _do_ good.”

“Ha! I don’t believe that for a second, and neither do you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he replies, taking off his glasses with a smirk, “I’m evil incarnate.”

“You’re about as evil as a marshmallow, Crowley. At least, based off what you did today.”

The demon sniffs and puts his sunglasses back on, “That can all be written off as being in my own selfish interests.”

Donna laughs, “Alright then. If it helps you sleep at night, you were very selfish in helping rescue two people from Hell.”

“Well, when you put it like that it doesn’t sound very demonic at all.”

She laughs again and puts an arm through Crowley’s. He doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you, Crowley. For helping me get the Doctor back.”

“And thank _you_ , Donna, for helping me rescue Aziraphale. And for saving my life in the bookshop.”

“And stopping you from running through that holy water.”

“That too. I owe you one.”

“Nah. Let’s call it quits.”

They let the conversation up ahead wash over them as the Doctor attempts to explain to Aziraphale what Carrionites are. The lights are bright, and the air is warm. It’s a beautiful night.

“What are you going to do now?” Donna asks.

Crowley shrugs, “Same old stuff, probably. Carry out some quick temptations. Help Aziraphale with the shop. Although he’s got it in his head about moving to the South Downs.”

“Will you go with him?”

“Only if he asks.”

“He’ll ask.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am. I have my ways.”

Now it’s Crowley’s turn to laugh.

“What about you, Donna?”

“I told you before. I’m gonna travel with the Doctor forever.”

“You’re serious about that, aren’t you?”

“My life was so _boring_ before he came along. I never want to go back to that. Ever. Why would I, when _everything_ is out there?”

Crowley smiles, looking up to the sky. The light pollution of the city is terrible, but a few of the brighter stars shine through murk.

“Which ones did you help make?”

He shrugs, “It was a while ago now.”

“Don’t give me that. If I made a star, I’d remember which one.”

Crowley looks down at Donna.

“How do you do that? It’s terrifying.”

“Do what?”

“Make me tell the truth.” He sighs, “Alpha Centauri. That was my favourite. Two binary stars – celestial bodies forever orbiting the other, never touching.”

Donna is about to reply, but they’re interrupted by the Doctor’s delighted cry of “There she is!”

And there he goes, running down the street to embrace the big blue box like an old friend. Actually, there is no ‘like’ about it – she is his oldest friend.

“That’s his ship?” Aziraphale asks.

“Yes! And it’s the most amazing ship in all of existence,” Donna replies happily.

“I expected it to be… bigger.”

“Come and see,” she beckons, running over to the TARDIS.

The Doctor has already disappeared inside. Crowley runs after her, pulling Aziraphale along with him. 

“Prepare to be amazed,” she says and flings the doors open with a dramatic flair that she can only have picked up from the Doctor. 

They step into the TARDIS. 

The room inside is massive – much larger than the exterior dimensions would suggest. It’s got a steam punk feel to it. Serpentine wires hang from the ceiling, framing an immense central column that glows with a turquoise light. In a ring around this are consoles and controls and all sorts of exciting buttons. And the _energy_ that pours out of the room. Crowley can’t quite put his finger on it, but the TARDIS feels _alive_.

“Well – what do you think?” Donna asks.

“It’s very impressive,” Aziraphale admits, “I hadn’t realised that any mortal species had mastered dimensions to this extent.”

Donna seems disappointed.

“Were you hoping for a different reaction, my dear?”

“I think she was hoping for more of a _’Oh my goodness, it’s bigger on the inside!’_ kind of thing, angel.”

“Ah. Sorry. Heaven’s been pretty good with dimensions for a long time. It is still _very_ impressive.”

“Not too sure on the interior design,” Crowley mutters, bringing a smile back to Donna’s face.

“Hey!” the Doctor yells from the other side of the console, “I wasn’t rude about your car.”

“That’s because my car looks cool.”

“ _This_ is very cool,” he protests, gesturing to the room with a wide swing of his arm, “it travels in time and space. Doesn’t matter what it looks like.”

Crowley holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Fair enough.”

“So, Donna,” the Doctor says, throwing an arm around her shoulders, “where to next?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking we should ask these two where they’d like to go?”

Aziraphale’s jaw drops open and Crowley stands up straight.

“That’s a great idea! What do you say? Anywhere in time and space – your pick.” 

The angel and the demon share a look.

“Come on – it will be fun!” the Doctor is almost begging now, “Never had an angel or a demon in the TARDIS. That will be a first.”

It’s tempting. So, _so_ tempting.

“What do you think, my dear? We could go back to Mesopotamia and get the recipe for that dish we’ve been craving.”

Crowley looks at Donna. Her face falls.

“You don’t want to come.”

The demon sighs, “It’s not that…”

“We could go to Alpha Centauri?”

Crowley laughs, “We could but…”

“But what?”

“But we’ve got a lot to do here,” Aziraphale finishes. “Looking after this planet is more than enough for us. We don’t need to get involved with anymore.”

“Besides – he’d be fretting about his books the entire time,” Crowley teases, wrapping an arm around the angel’s waist.

Aziraphale opens his mouth to argue, but settles for a good-natured shrug and leans into the touch. 

The Doctor raises an eyebrow.

“Are you two together?” he asks.

Donna sighs and shakes her head.

“What? You’re acting like it’s obvious.”

“It _is_ ”

“Are you two not together then?” Aziraphale asks.

The Doctor and Donna make twin gagging noises.

“I guess not.”

“Where are you two going to head next?” the angel asks.

The alien shrugs, “All of time and space. Never quite sure where we’ll end up – the TARDIS is a bit hit and miss, _although_ …” he dashes up to the console and flips a few switches. The instruments chirp at the instruction, and he pulls a screen round to look at the readings. “Yes! There’s due to be a maelstrom cascade in the Helix Nebula. I’ve always wanted to go there. What do you think?”

He remembers pouring out the stardust for that nebula. Concentric rings of rainbow colours. How pretty they were.

“I think it will put New Year’s Eve to shame,” Crowley replies.

The stardust spilled through his fingers like sand.

Donna smiles, “Another one of yours?”

“Yes.”

Donna turns to the Doctor, “It sounds perfect.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” the Doctor tries again. “We can go and have a look and bring you back here before anyone even notices you’re gone.”

Crowley laughs, “And we’ll be immediately sucked into another adventure if we hang out with you for too long. No – I reckon I’ve got all the adventure I need right here.”

Aziraphale beams. 

“Well, it’s been lovely to meet you both.”

Aziraphale extracts himself from Crowley and shakes the Doctor’s outstretched hand, “It was a delight. You must pop by the shop sometime, Doctor. I have some books that might interest you.”  
“You can count on it,” the Doctor replies with a massive grin.

“Only if there are no hellhounds,” Donna adds, giving the angel a hug.

“I will make sure of that, my dear.”

She releases him and turns to Crowley.

“Hug?”

The demon embraces her with a laugh.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you. A hug is much better than a slap.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Not a great first impression, was it?”

“Hey! You never apologised for slapping _me_ ” the Doctor protests.

“You kidnapped me from my wedding! I had every right to be cross!”

Aziraphale and Crowley step out of the TARDIS and back into the alleyway.

“Goodbye, you two,” the Doctor calls, beginning to shut the door.

“Don’t be strangers,” Crowley yells back, “come around for a drink whenever you like.”

“That sounds like fun!”

“Doctor – you _hate_ alcohol.”

The two of them start bickering and disappear inside the TARDIS. There’s a great groaning sound, and the light on top of the blue box starts to flash. The wind picks up, scattering leaves around the alley. The TARDIS slowly dematerialises, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone.

“Wow. They were certainly something.”

“Of course, they were, angel. Everything is something by definition.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.”

They stand there for a moment, staring where the TARDIS had been. Two incredible people – met less than a day ago, but would be remembered for the rest of their lives.

“Come on, angel. Let’s go home.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Mine.”

Crowley holds out his hand and Aziraphale takes it. And angel and a demon walk hand-in-hand through the streets of London – the wind sighs softly at the sight.

“I know you miracled half the M25 to safety today, but Hastur blew up my flat. Is there any chance you could help a demon out?”

A snakeskin boot splashes through a puddle.

“Your flat got _what?_ ”

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the final chapter *off-key kazoo*
> 
> So here we are! I can barely believe this has actually come to an end! Never in my wildest dreams did I expect so many people to enjoy my silly little story, but you have. It's been a massive privilege to interact with each and every one of you - thank you for taking the time to kudos and comment :)
> 
> As usual, if you enjoyed you can leave a comment, or come and yell at me on tumblr (theplatinthehat). I also give any creators blanket permission to create anything they like based on this fanfic, as long as I get to see it!
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this wild ride! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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